


The Partner, The Rival and The Very Big Case

by oceaxe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Partners, Based on a Reddit Thread, Computer Nerd Millicent, Ideal Best Friend Astoria, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy or Homophobia?, M/M, OMG THEY WERE PARTNERS, Theo's got some issues, Wizards using Pornhub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14217933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: When Harry and Nott are paired up to go undercover as fake boyfriends, Draco is disappointed not to get the assignment. It's just professional jealousy that's making him feel so upset. Obviously. He's engaged to be married to Astoria, after all.But when he walks in on Nott kissing Harry for 'practice' and has a wild magic outbreak, he starts to think that something else might be going on. Is Nott right? Is Draco a homophobe? Or is there... just possibly... another explanation?





	The Partner, The Rival and The Very Big Case

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt:
> 
> Harry and Draco are Auror partners. Theo is an Auror as well. In an undercover mission, Harry and Theo are required to pose as a couple. Draco has to keep an eye out for the perpetrator but he can't concentrate with Theo and Harry being so...annoying (Read: Affectionate) Draco feels- he doesn't know what he feels but it's DEFINITELY not jealousy. (Yeah, right) 
> 
> And based on [this article about a Reddit thread](https://www.gaystarnews.com/article/straight-guy-worries-hes-homophobic-gay-roommate-ends-falling-love/#gs.d=cxI=0). I deeply wish I'd been able to work in the quote, "Nothing says romance like graphic violence."
> 
> Many, many thanks to AmoretteHD for the never-ending beta work (and for all the em-dashes) and to GoldenTruth for the extremely encouraging cheerreading and input!! <3 <3 <3

“Given all the parameters of the mission, the most expedient plan is to have an Auror pair pose as romantic partners. They will infiltrate Vosges’ social circle with the goal of getting to know his new husband. Giles is a known alcoholic and party boy, and his confidences could easily lead to information that could bring down this heinous drug ring.”

Robards looked around the room, eyebrows beetling absurdly, as if any of them needed a reminder how crucial it was that they make headway on this case. Any more delays could lead to the Unspeakables marching in and taking over, in all their inscrutable, hateful superiority.

“I’m going to need my best Aurors on the team,” Robards intoned pompously.

Draco sat up straighter in his chair—a case of this size could get him positioned for the deputy level and potentially lead to his career endgame, Chief Magical Inspector. He adjusted his expression to “BAMF who is also unaccountably modest and additionally an excellent team player.” It was a lot to convey with only his face, but he was reasonably certain he succeeded. Nott glowered at him, the ugly bastard.

“Auror Potter,” Robards said after a long, tense silence, “you’re on this. Your work with Malfoy last month shows clear talent for infiltrating this type of cartel. Who knows, it’s even possible some of your informants could make contacts within Vosges’ circle.” Draco’s stomach leapt pleasurably. This all but ensured his inclusion on the team.

He glanced over at Potter, who was smiling, obviously invigorated by the prospect of a new challenge. Potter met his eyes and winked, giving him a surreptitious thumbs up. Draco returned his smile and waited impatiently for the rest of the team to be announced, cursing Robard’s taste for drama. It might be slightly awkward, posing as Harry’s boyfriend, but after two years as partners, they’d become pretty good friends. He was a professional. He would find a way to make it believable.

“Nott, you had some of the highest scores for Disillusionment and Glamours in your training cohort, and the Sturgeon case hinged on your excellent undercover work. You’ll be paired with Potter.”

Draco gaped in shock, then schooled his face to impassivity. Nott wasn't the right choice for… well, actually, Draco was forced to admit that it made sense for Nott to pose as Harry’s boyfriend. He was gay, after all. Nevertheless, he bristled at the reference to Nott’s scores on disguise charms. He wasn’t _bad_ at it, but everyone knew Draco was the best in the department at those charms. No need to worry, however; Draco had plenty of other skills as well, and the team would definitely need someone fluent in Dutch. He went back to waiting for Robards to announce the rest of the team, mulling over what his role would likely be, when the murmur of voices shook him out of his reverie. Why was everyone getting up? Was the meeting over? Had he not been chosen to be on the team?

“Malfoy, are you coming back to the office?” Potter was waiting by the door as the rest of the group filed out. Nott smirked triumphantly at him as he squeezed past Potter, then stopped and turned, deliberately blocking the door to clap Potter on the shoulder.

“Looking forward to working with you again,” he said in his smooth baritone, smarmy as fuck. “It’s been too long.” Nott’s gaze flickered over Potter’s body before he dropped his hand, and then he was gone, leaving a cloud of musky cologne behind him.

Draco shook his head, wondering what the fuck had just happened. He wasn’t on the team? At all?

“Yes, I’m coming, just going to get some coffee first,” he said, his tone impassive despite the pit in his stomach. Potter nodded, a look of understanding on his handsome face.

“Get me some too, yeah?” he asked, then left with a look back over his shoulder, large eyes soft with concern.

“Get your own coffee, you tosser,” Draco called back, and Potter flipped him two upraised fingers without turning around.

The coffee urn was almost empty so he started another brew, taking deep calming breaths as he waited for it to percolate. This was just one case, he repeated, listening to the burbling machine. Just one case amongst many. That it was the highest profile case to come up since he’d been partnered with Potter (and thus had a decent chance of scoring the assignment) was a shame, but there was nothing to be done about it. Something else would come along. There was a part of Draco that was almost relieved, truthfully, and he didn’t want to investigate that too closely.

But did it have to be _Nott_? That wanker had been nothing but a raspberry seed in his wisdom tooth since the day their training first began. They’d both been several years older than their cohort, the only former Slytherins and the only ones with first-hand experience with the Dark Lord. Draco had attributed their rivalry to that, and to Nott’s bizarre fixation on their school days.

Not to mention that it was humiliating to be split from his partner. It wasn’t unprecedented to break up Auror partners temporarily if the case required a different mix of skills and experience, but it certainly wasn’t common. The machine gave a soft, chuckling sigh and Draco filled up two mugs, pouring a truly ridiculous amount of milk into one, along with a criminal number of sugar cubes.

As he walked to the office, Draco told himself Robard’s decision was undoubtedly down to Nott being gay, and Harry being bisexual. They would have an easier time of posing as a couple than he and Harry would have done. His stomach lurched uncomfortably. He probably should have eaten breakfast this morning.

Draco was about to shoulder the door open to give Harry his coffee when he heard the murmur of Nott’s low voice inside his office.

“I’m just saying, Malfoy has a history of homophobia,” Draco heard, and his head instantly began to throb. He was going to kill the wanker.

“Are you sure?” Harry, thank Merlin, sounded extremely doubtful. “We’ve talked about me being bisexual, it never seemed to bother him.”

“You should have seen him in school—” Oh, that was _it_. There was no way Draco was going to let Nott air this one more time.

“I’ve got the sickening slop you requested, Potter,” he called out before he entered, and Nott fell quiet. The door swung open to reveal Harry sitting on his desk and Nott splayed out in Draco’s chair.

“Oh, Malfoy,” Nott said, his voice pleasant and his eyes cold. “Any coffee for me?”

Draco was sorely tempted to have a painful ‘accident’ with his scalding black coffee and Nott’s exposed lap, but he didn’t want his chair to get wet. “Just the two. If you’ll excuse me,” he said tonelessly, setting the mugs on the desk with a hard clink.

“Am I in the way? My apologies,” Nott said glibly as he unfolded his absurd length out of the chair. “Sorry about the case, too. But even you have to admit, it’s better like this.”

Draco gritted his teeth and nodded curtly. “I’m sure.”

“Well, Harry, I’ll be in early tomorrow, we can get right on it. Ta,” Nott said as he slimed his way out the door. What a fucking arsewipe, Draco thought.

“Hey,” Harry said. “I wanted to say—”

Draco cut him off. “No need, Potter. Nott’s right, it makes sense.”

“I was just going to say hand over my coffee, there’s a love,” he said, and Draco relaxed.

“I’ve already gone and made the damned stuff, you can get off your lazy arse and walk two feet over to get it.”

Harry hopped down and picked up his mug, taking a long sip and humming his satisfaction. They sat in silence for a moment and Draco picked up the file for the case they’d been starting before this morning’s meeting. He guessed he was on his own for this one.

“Just so you know, I’d rather it was you,” Harry said, not looking up from the mug. “Stuck in Belgium with some tosser who doesn’t even know how I take my coffee, it’s going to be a nightmare.”

Draco smiled and drank his own coffee, not meeting Harry’s gaze, which he could now feel on him. His face felt hot. “Yeah, yeah, I bet you say that kind of thing to all your partners.”

“Seriously, though. We’ve been hitting our stride lately, and you’re the one who solved the Arrant-Mies case; it was entirely your strategy.” He took another long swig and plopped down in his chair. “You deserve this case.”

“I know,” Draco said, finally looking over at him. He looked far too earnest for this time of day. Usually his true earnestness didn’t come out until around 7pm, after a few pints. “But it’s fine. You and Nott are the right choice for this one. Not a problem.”

 

***

 

In the morning, it all seemed like nothing. Draco realized that he and Harry had been spending too much time in each other’s pockets anyhow. It would be refreshing to get some space, he told himself, thinking of the way he had to constantly reorganize his side of the office, as Harry tended to spend as much time at Draco’s desk as he did at his own. Not that he minded, per se, it was just… it would be good to get a little distance.

He had woken up next to Astoria, which was a bit odd. They didn’t often spend the night together, despite the long engagement--or perhaps because of it. But last night he’d owled her to come over and talk, and as usual she’d shown up within minutes of his request. Astoria listened patiently as he whinged about not getting assigned to the Vosges case, and she’d reassured him that his turn would come, that he was making good progress towards his goals, and that clearly it wasn’t based on his past, since Nott had almost as tainted a history. She had brought over a bottle of elf-made elderberry wine and they’d gotten a little more squiffy than usual and passed out on Draco’s bed.

Draco always woke up early when he slept next to Astoria. He’d left her snoring lightly, her auburn hair splayed on his pillows, and wrote a note to thank her for coming over.

The office was quiet at this time of day; he enjoyed the silence and the freedom to talk to himself under his breath, as he was wont to do. So he was in the middle of talking himself through a complex analysis of a possible counter-spell when the door banged open and Harry and Nott came in, talking over each other and laughing.

“So what are you going to look like, then? If I apparently have to be a ginger?” Potter demanded, his laugh still on his lips.

“I don’t know, Potter, what do you like?” Nott replied in a faux-sultry voice. “Long hair? Short? Muscular? I can look like anything you want.”

“You can change your weight by fifteen percent max,” Draco said without looking up from the report he was working on, “and your hair colors are limited to brown, darker brown, and a dishwater blond which is essentially light brown.”

“Why, Malfoy, I didn’t know you were paying such close attention!” Nott said, feigning that he was flattered, with a hand to his chest.

Draco snorted and took up his quill, making random marks on the parchment of the report but unable to stop listening to their banter.

“We’ll have to practice our story of how we met until we can finish each other’s sentences,” Nott said as he slid onto Harry’s desk and crossed his legs. He was acting poncier than Draco had ever seen him act, and he had to admit it worked for him. Nott seemed more approachable, friendlier, and Draco got the unsettling feeling that on a certain level, he was being more himself than he usually let himself be. Harry clearly found the change in him interesting, to say the least.

“So, how did we meet?” Harry asked, straddling his chair and leaning in conspiratorially to Nott. They both gave the appearance of having the time of their lives and Draco was starting to feel a little irritated by the display. He should have been the one to plan their undercover story; he was excellent at deceit and building fantasy worlds. His Disillusionment skills and glamours far surpassed Nott's anyway—he could have become whatever Harry wanted, his deepest fantasy.

His train of thought screeched to a halt on that. The job didn’t require anyone to embody Harry’s deepest fantasy. What had brought that on?

“Giles is a jumped-up party boy with a sentimental streak a mile wide, so I think we should go for something precious but a little sleazy,” Nott said with a laugh.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “We noticed each other at the club because we were both wearing the same outfit? And we ended up fucking in the loo because …”

“Because we were checking to see if we had the same pants on? And your arse was too delicious to resist?”

Draco ignored that the back of his neck was suddenly hot; he wasn’t used to this kind of talk, that was all. Was Nott actually hitting on Harry? It was incredibly unprofessional, he thought. Someone should say something.

Harry gave Nott a coy, flattered look that made Draco’s blood turn icy in his veins. He had no idea why, but he stood up and threw his report and quill to the desk with a clatter.

“Nott, can you please go back to your office? Some of us are trying to focus on work here, not on shagging our…” he stopped himself before he said partner, because Nott wasn’t Harry’s partner, Draco was, and Nott would never be Harry’s partner because Harry liked being Draco’s partner. He flushed and sat back down.

“We are working, Malfoy,” Harry said in the calming tones of one handling a testy Hippogriff. “We’re making a backstory for our cover.”

Draco felt sick to his stomach; what the fuck was wrong with him? It had been an age since Nott had made him so upset, and Nott hadn’t even been talking to him. In fact, he was acting as if Draco weren’t even in the room.

That’s what it was. Professional jealousy. He didn’t like being ignored.

“You’re just getting a little bit loud,” he said through his teeth, picking up the report again and determined to block them out. “Tone it down.”

Nott gave Harry an ‘I told you so’ look and hopped down off Harry’s desk. “Come back to my office, Harry. Julia isn’t nearly so uptight. She might even have something useful to add.” Harry got up from his chair and went to Draco, though.

“Sorry we were distracting you,” he said. “Oh, is that the Gershewitz report? I can finish that up when I get back from Nott’s office.”

Draco looked up finally to see Harry’s face, quizzical and repentant. “No need,” he said gruffly. “I’m almost done. Sorry I got tetchy, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“No worries, I can bring you some coffee.” Harry leaned over and brushed something off Draco’s robes. “Just a piece of lint. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Nott was staring daggers at Draco, who suddenly felt loads better and smirked back.

“Run along, Nott. Harry will join you when he’s brought me my coffee.” Something about this was profoundly satisfying. Probably it was about showing Nott where he stood relative to Harry’s priorities, ie: pretty damn low, and obviously much lower than Draco. It was petty, but Draco knew that the greatest joys sometimes sprang from the pettiest of motivations.

“I’ll get you one, too, Theo," Harry popped his head 'round the door to add. "How do you take it?”

“Ta, Harry,” Nott said, looking at Draco the whole time. “White and sweet, four lumps. Oh, that reminds me,” he said as he and Harry walked towards the kitchen, “we should discuss who tops and who bottoms.”

He threw a delightedly vicious glance back over his shoulder at Draco with those words. Draco slammed the door shut behind them.

Of course Nott took his coffee just like Harry. Of course he did.

Draco slept poorly again that night as well, and come the morning was in a right strop. If Malfoys ever got into anything as common as a strop.

He’d gotten to the office early to find a memo from Robards, letting him know that his Dutch language skills would be needed by the Vosges team. Not that he was going to be on the team, as such, just that he needed to make himself “available” to them whenever he was required. Part of him was relieved at being included, relieved that he would have a window on what Harry was doing and whether he was acting within protocol. Harry had a tendency to go haring off and put himself in unconscionable danger on a moment's whim. Nott would be no use protecting him, as self-absorbed as he was. And this way, at least Draco wouldn’t be totally out of the loop.

But the larger part of him bridled at being reduced to support personnel. Oh well, he reasoned, nothing to be done. The mission was a week away, plenty of time of brush up on his Dutch. He sent a note to Astoria letting her know that he wouldn’t be making it to their weekly date night. He knew she wouldn’t mind; she always had plenty of social engagements to occupy her. That he would one day inevitably be expected to accompany her to all those engagements was something he could comfortably put off thinking about for the foreseeable future, thank Merlin.

As the morning wore on, Draco kept looking down the hallway expecting to see Harry arrive, but it reached ten o’clock with no sign of him, and then eleven. At noon, when Draco was about to go to the cafeteria for a quick (and tasteless, and overpriced) sandwich, Harry finally came strolling up, Nott trailing behind him, both of them looking rough around the edges.

“Late night?” he asked tersely, wishing he could just let go of his irritation. There was no reason for him to be holding this assignment against Harry. It’s not as if Harry were responsible for Robards’ decision. It wasn’t even that terrible a decision. Merlin only knew how utterly crap Draco would have been posing as a gay man.

Harry came into the office and slumped into his chair, his hand over his eyes protecting him from the harsh institutional lumos-generators. “Yeah, Theo and I went out and got sloshed,” he said, regret evident in his graveled voice. “Turns out Theo actually can drink me under the table.”

“I can do all kinds of things under the table,” Nott leered, then collapsed against the desk with a groan. “Ugh, I feel dreadful,” he moaned dramatically. Draco gritted his teeth. “It was worth it, though. We got loads of great pictures of us out and about. Giles uses all the latest magi-tech, he’d never want to hob-nob with technophobes. He’ll expect to see our phones full of pictures of each other.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you said,” Harry waved him off with an exhausted chuckle. Harry was so patient with him, Draco didn’t know how he managed it. Nott was an riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a migraine.

“Well. I’m going to the cafeteria for lunch,” Draco said, sounding as stiff as Mother would if faced with this dissolute spectacle. “Would you like anything, Potter?” He tried to convey with his body how very, very much his offer did not encompass Nott.

“Thanks, Malfoy, but it’ll be hours before I can hold anything down. Can you turn out the lights when you leave? I’m going to sit here in the dark and contemplate the poor decisions that have led me to this pass. Such as listening to Theo’s ludicrous plans.” He grinned at Nott, then groaned again and closed his eyes, splayed out in his chair like a lazy crup.

“I’ll check in on you later, darling,” Nott said with a wink. “Get some shut-eye. We’re going shopping for your mission wardrobe this afternoon and it’s going to be fabulous. Show off that figure for once.”

Draco felt like he was going to be ill as he followed Nott out the door. Nott was completely shameless, sucking up to Harry like that. Disgusting. Not that he was wrong, per se; Draco had privately wanted to take Harry clothes-shopping for most of the duration of their partnership. The man had a fit body, there was no need to hide it under baggy jeans and ratty jumpers all the time.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” Nott said as they walked down the hallway to the elevators. “Feel like you’re missing out?”

“I’m actually on the team, Nott,” Draco said tightly. “I’ll be monitoring the mission and offering assistance remotely.”

“Yes, I heard. With _translation_ ,” Nott said with exaggerated pity. “Not exactly a high profile contribution, though, is it? Not likely to get you a promotion. It’s too bad, really. Harry and I are having _such_ fun! But I expect you’ve noticed that.”

Draco turned to stare at Nott. What exactly was he getting at? “Yes, you seem as happy as a pig in muck.”

Nott’s face twisted into a smirking sneer. “Just make sure to keep your backwards attitudes to yourself; you know the Ministry takes a dim view of outdated and hateful prejudices. It reflects badly on our new, inclusive agenda.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Draco said, a chill tone in his voice and an even more chilly sensation crawling down his spine.

“Say hullo to Mummy and Daddy for me!” Nott said with a sarcastic twiddle of his fingers, then made a dramatic about-face and sauntered towards his office. What a ridiculous drama queen, Draco thought, his stomach sour and tight.

“I’m going to the cafeteria, you idiot, not to the Manor—” Draco called after Nott but cut himself off, feeling absurd. Nott was just a scheming, bitter twat. Best to ignore him and his pathetic attempts to wind you up, Draco told himself.

When he got back to the office, Harry had apparently recovered from his hangover (or more likely raided Agatha’s emergency supplies of hangover potions, for which he would catch bloody hell one day) and was making what appeared to be a complicated list of some kind.

“What’s that?” Draco said as he stood over Harry’s shoulder, absently noting that even though Harry’d been out drinking all night, he still smelled tolerable. Quite nice, actually.

“Oh, it’s a list of places that Nott and I have been on dates or vacation, and this is a list of special songs, and here’s his favorite foods, and here’s mine.”

Draco scanned the lists before he could stop himself, and noted that Nott’s favorites aligned with Harry’s nearly exactly. Hmph.

“Do you really need to go into that level of detail?” Draco said, and the disdain in his voice was scathing. Harry looked up at him, his glasses slightly askew. Draco pushed down on the left hinge to straighten them.

“Well, Nott’s idea was that we should be besotted with each other. That way, Vosges won’t be threatened by Giles befriending us and he’ll encourage the friendship, rather than shut it down out of jealousy.”

Draco couldn’t deny it was a good plan. It was just also so… so something. Upsetting, for some reason. “Hmph,” he said as he went back to his desk. “Wait, I thought they were swingers. Won’t Vosges and Giles be more interested in…” Draco trailed off before he could elaborate further on what parts of Harry their targets might be interested in.

“Yeah, they are,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at Draco. “But gay men can get jealous too, even sexually adventurous ones.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Draco said, wanting to move on to another topic. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going.

“Are you sure you’re alright with not getting assigned to the team?”

“I _am_ assigned to the team. To _translate_ ,” he drawled dismissively. He avoided Harry’s eyes, focusing instead on his book. The Dutch word for goddamn it was “godverdomme.” For shit, “stront.”

“You know what I mean,” Harry said.

Draco glanced up and then away. “Yes. Like I said before, it’s fine. Actually, well. It does put rather a crimp in the wedding plans.”

Harry scooted his chair closer to Draco’s desk. “How so?”

“You know we haven’t set a date,” he replied, suppressing a wince. Everyone in the department knew they hadn’t set a date. Draco was aware that it was a frequent topic of speculation around the coffee urn.

Harry just nodded.

“Well, I’ve been waiting to set the date until I made more progress in my career. It’s not fair to saddle Astoria with someone who has next to no standing in society. It’s bad enough she’s burdened with my family’s legacy.”

“Malfoy, you’re one of the best in the department, surely you know that.” Harry looked so earnest now, Draco wanted to hide his face in his hands. He was always saying these kind of flattering things and while Draco knew it was only because he wanted to buck him up, it still got under his skin like nothing else. “It’s only that Nott is gay and you… you aren’t. That’s the main reason. Robards can’t say that, but we all know.”

Draco took a deep breath and sighed it out.

“So all this about your social standing—is this an expectation that’s coming from her, or from you?”

Draco was silent for a moment. In absolute, unvarnished truth, he knew that he was grateful for the plausible excuse to delay the inevitable. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Astoria, not at all. It was just that it all seemed so… abstract. And he rather liked it that way.

“It’s coming from me,” he admitted.

“So you want to get a high profile case like this so you can move up the ranks? And once you’re in the right position, you’ll set the date?”

Draco nodded.

“Any idea what kind of ceremony you want?”

Now that was an unexpected question. “What do you mean?”

“Will it be a traditional wizarding ceremony, or something more low-key?”

“Er, probably something a little more low-key than all of the people either of us have ever known at an eighteen-hour ceremony presided over by every living relative on both sides. Potter, you know no one does the full traditional ceremony any more.”

“I just thought your parents—”

“My parents have no say in when or how I get married.”

Harry looked at him doubtfully. “So they’re not driving this engagement?”

Draco tilted his head, wanting to deny it but not able to. “It was arranged at Astoria’s birth, so yes, you could say they’re the driving force, but that’s not unusual in Pureblood families. I am in full control of whether and when we actually get married. Well, more accurate to say that both of us are. Astoria and I.”

“Hm. What kind of ceremony does Astoria want, then?”

Draco blinked at him. It was absurd to say he didn’t know; they’d been officially engaged for years. But he didn’t. “I don’t know. She’s never said.”

Harry looked gobsmacked. “You’ve never talked about your wedding?”

“Potter, I had no idea you were so full of opinions on marriage,” Draco said, trying to put a joking tone in his voice. But he knew he sounded irritated, because he was irritated. He didn’t like this conversation one bit.

“It’s just that your relationship seems to be going better now,” Harry said, clearly backpedaling. “You, er, you haven’t mentioned any spats or anything in a while.”

“Yes, we’re getting along very well,” Draco was pleased to be able to say truthfully. Ever since Astoria had grasped that Draco simply wasn’t as interested in sex as she was, their relationship had improved considerably. Her friendship with Millie had definitely helped take the heat off, as well. “She’s actually—we’ve become quite close. She might be the closest friend I’ve ever had.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “That’s good to hear,” he said, but he looked distracted. All too soon, Nott was rapping on the door and entering without getting a response.

“Ready, darling?” he drawled, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I keep telling you, our pet names should be insults; we’re supposed to be carefree playboys, not dowager aunts.” He got up from his chair and followed Nott out the door, arguing like an old married couple. Draco felt a bit queasy.

 

***

 

“Malfoy!”

Draco cowered instinctively at Agatha’s bark and wondered if he could get away with hiding under his desk. Too late. She’d entered the office.

“Golden Boy’s been taking my potions again. Haven’t I told you to stop him doing that?”

Draco boggled at her nerve. “I’m not his… his… I’m Potter’s partner, not his keeper. I have no say over what he does.”

“Bollocks. I’ve seen you rein him in with just your hand on his sleeve, Malfoy. You’re like his dom.”

“His _what?_ ”

“Muggle term for… forget it. Keep him out of my supply, I can’t be spending the pittance they pay me on potions for all the boozehounds around here.”

“Go tell him yourself,” he muttered as he turned away. Potter’s keeper, indeed. "Dom." Whatever that was.

Agatha’s snort had him turning back around instantly. “I don’t think he wants to be interrupted right now. He and Nott are… well, I won’t say more. Don’t want to tell tales out of school.”

The smirk on her face told the whole story, but she had to be wrong. Draco stuffed down his reaction and said something about having a lot of work to get on with. She walked off chuckling to herself, the old hag, while Draco sat there frozen for a moment.

The next moment, he was up on his feet and walking down the hallway to Nott’s office. He slowed down on the way, to give himself some time to think. Not to clarify to himself what he was doing, just to come up with a good reason for barging in on them.

His mind was curiously blank, however. Most of his blood seemed to be in his cheeks, which were burning, and what blood wasn’t in his cheeks was making his head pound in time with his heart.

So when he got to Nott’s door, which stood ajar, he just pushed it open and entered, with no plan at all.

Nott had Harry pressed up against a file cabinet. It didn’t look like Harry minded much. His head was thrown back, eyes closed. His hands were on Nott’s waist.

And when Nott’s head descended, his mouth sliding over Harry’s neck, Harry gasped. It was clear that Harry didn’t mind at all.

But Draco did.

His stomach plummeted into his boots then sprang back up again, twisting painfully.

“What the _fuck_?” Distantly he noted that something breakable in the room had shattered.

Both heads swiveled towards him, Nott looking furious and Harry a blank mask of shock.

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?”

“I came to… never mind that, what the hell are _you_ doing?”

“I should say that’s pretty obvious—” Nott began in his insufferable drawl, at the same time that Harry said, “Practicing for the mission.”

“You’re right, it’s obvious that you’re molesting my partner,” Draco began, but Nott cut him off.

“What the fuck do you have to say about it,” he said with a snarl. “Who cares what a homophobic piece of shit like you has to say about what we do? Get the fuck out of my office or I’ll report you to Robards.”

“Malfoy, you have this all wrong,” Harry broke in, but Draco wasn’t hearing him, or anything at all. His ears were ringing and he was having trouble taking a full breath. He felt like he might throw up. Nott’s hand was still on Harry’s shoulder, his body still caging him in.

“Report me? You’re the one who’s—” he forced himself to stop escalating. “Fuck you, Nott.”

“I wouldn’t fuck a bigot like you with a rented dick,” Nott spat and Harry pushed him off, moving towards Draco.

Draco turned and fled, walking straight past his office and to the bank of elevators. One opened fortuitously just as he reached it and he ducked in, punching the lobby button. He had to get the fuck out of there immediately.

The doors closed on the sight of Harry jogging up, saying “Draco, wait—”, but he was cut off.

 

***

 

A few fingers of whiskey, a scalding hot shower, a mild cheering charm and another few fingers of whiskey didn’t alleviate the sense of dread that Draco was barely suppressing. Something was wrong with him, that much was clear.

But surely Nott wasn’t right about him.

Draco lay slumped on the divan in front of the waning flames of an Incendio-cast fire, mulling over the scene in Nott’s office. He knew he ought to eat something, but the churning in his gut wouldn’t allow it.

A scratch on the window startled him; he hardly ever got owl post at all, these days. He went to the window to let the bird in, and was both relieved and not surprised to see Melliflua, Harry’s barred owl, holding her leg out. She let out a long sing-song hoot while Draco undid the cord around the scroll.

Draco’s hands shook while he unrolled it; he put it down to liquor on an empty stomach.

_Nott was an arsehole to say those things. I know you’re not a homophobe. - H_

The message was typically Harry. Suddenly Draco was angry, and he couldn’t say exactly why. It irked him that Harry wanted to minimize this.

 _How do you know?_   he scrawled quickly and tied the scroll back onto Melliflua’s ankle before he could think better of it. She flapped off into the night, her unusual owl-song trailing behind her.

As soon as she was gone, adrenaline pumped through him. What the fuck had he been thinking? Merlin forbid Harry think that Draco was confirming Nott’s opinion! He paced around the room, then grabbed a quill and was about to write a clarifying message, when he heard Melliflua’s talons on the glass again.

_Because I know you, Draco. You’ve never had any problem with me being bisexual; I told you right off the bat and you didn’t blink. Remember all those chats we had about the people I’ve dated? It was never an issue, even when it was men. Not to mention that you’re fine around Seamus and Dean, Ginny and Luna - you’re not homophobic, it’s plain as day. I am absolutely certain. Nott’s the problem here, not you. He has a chip on his shoulder the size of Wales. I ripped him a new one for being such a cock-knob, just so you know. He refuses to apologize, so you have my permission to knee him in the groin when you see him in the office._

Draco stared and stared at the message, until Melliflua flew up on his shoulder and nipped at his ear. He absently fed her a treat and sent her on her way. He had nothing to say in return.

Even if Harry refused to see it, his behavior recently didn’t exactly contradict Nott’s outburst.

  
While it was true that he hadn’t shown any outward sign of disgust when Harry had come out as bisexual to him, it wasn’t true that he’d had no reaction to it. He vividly remembered the painful twinge in his stomach, the subsequent difficulty he’d had following the conversation. He’d dismissed it at the time as something he’d eaten, but he’d known even then that it was an emotional reaction.

The thing was, during Voldemort’s stay at the Manor, Draco had gotten all too practised at ignoring his emotions. They had only been a weakness then, and he couldn’t afford weakness. In the years after the war, during his probation, he’d only become more skilled at stuffing them down until they submerged below the surface of his conscious mind. He couldn’t risk having an emotional reaction to every person who spat at him on the street, every Howler, every closed door.

The thing was, once he’d trained himself to do that, it was nearly impossible to stop doing it.

Harry was right that Draco hadn’t been bothered by his stories of ill-fated dates with men, both Muggle and Wizard. They’d laughed and dissected them, diagnosed possible personality disorders and reasons for personal hygiene lapses, and on and on. But he’d never met them, never seen Harry with them. Seeing a man’s lips on Harry’s neck had been a shockingly visceral experience. Draco couldn’t come up with a name for the emotion, but it hadn’t been a good feeling. He hadn’t been happy for Harry, or even neutral. He’d hated it.

A horrible thought crept closer to his conscious mind.

Draco took a deep breath and allowed the thought to enunciate itself clearly. _Is Nott right about me? Am I homophobic?_

The next moment, he felt a panic attack coming on. Instinctively, he kneeled at the grate and Floo-called Astoria, hoping she wasn’t already asleep.

“Draco? What’s going on?” Her wavering, glimmering face blinked at him and she rubbed a hand over it. He’d woken her, damn it.

“It—it’s nothing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, but she talked over him.

“No no no, it’s not nothing.” She cocked her head. “You’re about to have a panic attack.”

His shoulders dropped and he nodded, staring at the grate.

“What’s the matter? Did something happen at work?”

Draco nodded again. He was trying to formulate a way to say, “Am I turning into my father?” without actually saying those words because he thought he might vomit if he did.

“I’m coming through, shove back.”

He pushed himself away from the fireplace and sat on the divan again, elbows on his knees. With a sparkling gust, Astoria landed on the hearth, spluttering. “Merlin, Draco, have this Floo cleaned!”

He helped her dust off; he kept forgetting to have the Floo dealt with. “Sorry. Thanks for—”

“Shut up, dear,” she said, smiling and pushing him back down on the divan. “Now tell me.”

Astoria curled up on the end of the divan, her arms around her knees.

“So, I told you about that case I didn’t get?” She raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Well, it involves a gay man and in order to get close to him, Robards decided to send an Auror team to pose as a gay couple and befriend his fiance.”

“And?”

“And Robards assigned Potter because of our success with that drug ring.”

“Mm-hm. But he didn’t assign you, because…?”

“Because he assigned Nott to pretend to be Potter’s boyfriend. Which makes sense, for obvious reasons.” He paused for a moment. “You know Potter’s bisexual; you’ve read the articles.”

“I’m not really seeing the problem here, to be honest. I know you’re upset because you wanted a high profile case, but it’s clear they didn’t pass you over because of your abilities or your past. It’s only a matter of time until you get your big break. Would you really have wanted to pose as Potter’s boyfriend?” Astoria asked that with genuine curiousity, as though ‘no’ were not a foregone conclusion.

“That’s the problem.”

Astoria’s eyes widened. “You mean, you do want…?”

“I mean, no, I don’t want to _pose_ as Potter’s boyfriend! In fact, I can barely be around him and Nott!”

Her head tilted to the side again and she hummed.

“Why?”

Draco buried his face in his hands. “Because I’m a homophobe,” he said through his fingers.

“What? No, you’re not!” Astoria said, full of mirthful outrage. “Who said that?”

“Nott did, but—” he held out his stand to stop her protest. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’m starting to think he’s right. I’m feeling… fuck... I don’t know how to describe how I feel when I see them pretending to be together. It makes me feel like I'm going to be sick!”

Astoria put her hand over her mouth and Draco could tell she was horrified.

Wait.

She was shaking—was she crying? Great Merlin, this was worse than he’d thought.

Then her hand fell to her lap and he could see she was openly laughing at him.

“I’m sorry, Draco. It’s just… alright, I’ll stop in a second.” She brought herself under control after a moment while Draco did his breathing exercises to control his irritation.

“Okay. I’m fine now. I’m sorry. It’s only that I know you very well, and I know without question that you are not a homophobe.”

“Then why have I thrown a virtual tantrum whenever I’ve had to listen to them talking about pet names or sexual preferences?” he said angrily.

“Oh, a tantrum? Hm, sounds dreadful. Did you call them names? Did you throw things?”

He thinned his lips at her. “No. But I threw my quill down on the desk. Quite forcefully.”

Astoria nearly started laughing again but reined herself in with obvious effort. “I have known you most of our lives, Draco Malfoy. That is not a ‘Draco Malfoy’ tantrum. Perhaps if you’d cursed Nott into a slug…”

“I wanted to. Honestly, the sight of him fills me with rage.”

“Well, you’ve never liked him.”

“True, but this is different. And I—well, I walked in on them in Nott’s office.” He briefly thought about telling her that had actually been on purpose, but decided it wasn’t relevant. “And Nott was _kissing Harry’s neck_ and I… I just lost it.”

“Did you throw another quill? Forcefully?” she snickered, and he thwapped her thigh.

“Stop it. This is serious. I think I had a wild-magic outbreak. Something definitely shattered in their office.”

Abruptly she sobered. “Hm. Interesting.”

“What do you mean, interesting?”

“In a minute,” she waved off the question. “So, Potter has talked to you about dating men, right?” He nodded. “How did you feel then? Disgusted?”

“No, but that’s only because it was so abstract. I didn’t meet any of them, didn’t see anything happening. Actually seeing him with a man does make me feel… I don’t know. Disgusted, I suppose. I go hot all over and my stomach hurts and I feel rather like I want to vomit. I don’t like seeing him like that.”

“So ignore them. Walk away. It isn't real, anyway. I doubt Potter is enjoying the attention. Poor him, Nott has always had terrible breath.” She wrinkled her nose and grimaced.

“If you’d seen him, you wouldn’t think he minded.” And just like that, another unpleasant stabbing sensation assaulted him. “And now that I’ve seen it, I… I don’t know. I keep thinking about it.”

“About what? Potter?”

“About him doing that kind of thing. Now that I’ve seen it, it makes me sick to think about him doing that with other men.”

“Other men? You mean men other than Nott? Or men other than you?”

“What? What do you mean? We haven’t done anything like… I’m not sure I understand you, Astoria.” He gave her a bewildered look.

“Have you ever thought of Potter being with you?”

“You mean, like—”

“Like having sex with you.”

He boggled at her while his heart kicked up a notch. “Why on earth would I ever think about that?”

“I want you to get some time alone and think about you and Potter making out.”

Draco laughed a bit wildly. “Why? What good will that do?”

Astoria looked at him, her face inscrutable but tender. “Just do it anyway. Report back to me.”

His forced chuckle rang false even in his own ears. “Alright, whatever. But our pact still holds. If you ever see me turning into my father, ever see me do anything he would do or say anything he would say, you—”

“Hex you with boils and burn all your robes?”

Draco smiled a genuine smile, relieved for Astoria’s friendship and understanding. “Yes, that. Exactly.”

Astoria stayed the night, a welcome and comforting presence by his side. He briefly thought about putting his hand on her hip, their wordless signal that he was interested in sex, but he realized that he’d only be doing it as a way to … what, prove something? He had nothing to prove. Besides, that was a terrible reason to have sex. To prove something, other than one’s passion or affection. Or love. All things he’d been hoping to feel for Astoria over time.

That weekend, though, Astoria had plans with Millicent Bulstrode to visit the Norfolk Broads, and Blaise was wrapped up with a new lover and Greg was still in America, touring culinary schools. So Draco was left to his own devices.

Saturday came and went with Astoria’s directive flitting around in his mind. It wasn’t until tea time on Sunday that, in a doldrum, he found himself on the couch with nothing else to entertain him, and her words sounded like a clarion call in his ear.

_I want you to think about you and Potter making out._

He closed his eyes and tried to start thinking about making out with Harry. It was like running into a brick wall. No images would form in his mind. His eyes opened and he sighed. This was pointless. But Astoria would expect his report, so he closed his eyes again, determined to give it an honest try.

Draco pictured Harry’s face, his strong chin and cheekbones, full lips and smooth, dark skin. But try as he might, he couldn’t get his brain to cooperate in bringing his imaginary mouth to Harry’s—it was like there was a mental block. Harry’s face receded into the distance as he mentally attempted to approach. His subconscious wasn’t buying this, not one bit.

He did note, however, that he wasn’t revolted by the thought, and that was encouraging. That likely meant that he wasn’t a homophobe. But he felt he ought to explore this more; perhaps this mental block was obscuring some vast reservoir of repulsion.

Draco closed his eyes and tried once more, and yet again, couldn’t force his mind to produce any convincing scenarios. It just stuttered to a halt as soon as he’d fixed on Harry’s face, which was gaping in shock at him.

Exasperated, he rolled off his divan and Floo-called Astoria.

“I tried to imagine making out with Potter, but I can’t do it.”

Astoria looked doubtful. “Draco, I’ve seen you imagine a great many more improbable scenarios involving Potter.”

“I don’t know! I just can’t make my mind come up with the images.”

“Perhaps your impoverished brain could use some assistance with imagery,” Astoria said, her eyes glinting in the firelight. “Pornhub is free, you know.”

Draco frowned. “Are you telling me to look at gay porn? On the internet?”

Astoria shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not? Plenty of people look at porn. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I don’t even have a c-computer,” he said, his mouth tripping over the foreign word. He wouldn’t even know it, except that Millicent had somehow turned out to be excellent at programming them and was consequently making oodles of money in the Muggle world. He suspected she was using arithmantic algorithms to get a competitive edge, but it wasn’t like he was going to turn her in. “And I lost that cellophone you gave me. Could never get it to work right.”

“Here, I’ll do you a favor. I’ve got some good clips saved on the laptop Millie gave me.” She moved away from the fire and then was back, shoving a rectangle the size of a large book through the flames. “It’s been enchanted so it works around magic, obviously. Millie is a genius.”

Draco nodded, a little absently. Yes, Millie was a genius, and Astoria watched gay porn, and Potter apparently had no problem with being molested by former Death Eater-affiliated Slytherins who were also complete arseholes. The things he was learning about his friends lately.

The computer was silver and very sleek. He liked it instinctively.

“The clips are in a file on the desktop. It’s not password protected so you should be able to login without problem.”

“You realize that none of what you said made sense. You’re speaking gibberish.”

With a huff, Astoria Floo’d through and she and Draco spent the next hour going over basic computer literacy skills. When she was satisfied he could start it up, locate, open and close files and adjust the volume, she asked if he wanted to learn how to Google.

“That sounds dreadful. Does it hurt?”

Half an hour later, with a kiss on the forehead and instructions to owl her in the morning, Astoria left Draco and the laptop to have some alone time together.

Wrapping his brain around the fact that his fiancee was an aficionado of gay porn on the Muggle internet wasn’t as difficult as convincing himself to open the first clip, which was simply (and unhelpfully) titled “gay_porn_1.mp4.”

_A fair-haired man approaches a shorter man with messy, dark hair. Both are wearing only trousers, their bodies sleek but well-defined. The fair-haired man pushes the other one against a wall, pinning him there with his hips, and then circles his wrists and holds his arms above his head with one hand. The other hand strokes the man’s face and jaw, holding him in place as his captor kisses him deeply, possessively. Their hips undulate against each other, soft moans escaping them. The fairer man slides his hand down his captive’s torso, roughly palming the thick bulge in the other’s man pants, then diving under the waistband to grip his cock_

Draco stared at the screen long after the clip ended. His blood felt molten in his veins; he couldn’t believe the clip had only lasted thirty seconds. He played it again, watching the way the fair-haired man’s hips ground against his partner’s groin, a mesmerizing, liquid movement that caused Draco cock to throb. By the end, Draco felt breathless, his entire body buzzing.

He clicked on another clip, “gay_porn_2.mp4.”

_A muscular man is spread out on a table, his hands bound behind his back. His muscles twist and shift under his unblemished skin, his face contorting in agonized pleasure as the man behind him fingers his hole with one hand and strokes his cock with the other. He pushes back on the intruding finger and groans wantonly. Soon, his tormentor adds another finger, thrusting in and down, lube shining around the stretched and straining ring of flesh. Come spurts out of his cock and paints the table with sticky, dripping stripes._

Draco shut the laptop, breathing heavily. His hands covered his face and he laughed a little hysterically. Then he opened the laptop again, one hand pressing against his hard cock. Was this what porn did to everyone? He pushed the thought aside, chasing the reaction.

Before he could second guess himself, he clicked on “gay_porn_3.mp4.”

_A firm, round arse is thrust in the air, thin cotton pants covering it. Two hands reach out and yank the pants down, then knead the full, resilient flesh, lightly spanking it, making it bounce obscenely. The scene shifts, and a man lowers his face between spread cheeks, tongue pointed to trace the rim of the tight hole. The man face down on the bed jerks and mewls, pushing back to meet the tongue, which slips deep inside. The scene shifts again, the man is now on his back, his legs spread around thrusting hips, a thick cock sinking into him over and over. His head is thrown back in ecstasy and he begs the man fucking him to fill him up, over and over._

Draco’s entire body hummed and glowed and yearned; he’d never felt anything like it before.

The rest of the night was a blur as Draco braved the strangely-named Google to search for more of what he’d just seen. His cock throbbed and leaked but he didn’t touch it until his eyes were burning and his head ached. He closed the laptop and dropped his hand to his lap, coming almost as soon as he’d taken himself in hand. The force of his release made the world go dark at the edges.

When he came to, it was three in the morning and his hand and trousers were covered in jizz. He groaned and cast a Scourgify, then staggered to his bed. Erotic awakening or no, he needed to go to work in the morning, so he cast a mild Somnolence charm on himself and passed out, his mind blissfully blank.

 

Draco woke with the remnants of a dream drifting in his head; Harry spread out like a feast under him, writhing and bucking as Draco buried his cock deep inside his gorgeous arse. There were no problems now with visualizing what Harry might look like, might be like. Draco discovered that some part of his mind had been cataloguing details about Harry, hoarding them in some unknown recess. They all spilled out now; how Harry’s lips looked, pursed around his quill. How they might look around the head of Draco’s cock, lips pushing back his foreskin, tongue flitting over his frenulum.

Draco sighed and let his hand stroke over his rapidly hardening cock. It bore the signs of a nocturnal emission, dried come dotting his groin. He muttered a cleaning spell, then a Lubricus, and pushed up into the circle of his fist. Impressions of Harry gleaned over the years flashed through his mind. In the showers after training, his arse barely concealed under a damp towel, droplets of water trickling down his neck. A sudden, surprised gasp followed by a moan when he took a sip of the disgustingly sweet and creamy lattes Draco brought him as a reward for following protocol. The shift and flex of the muscles in his forearm as he wrote out a report, his strong hands ink-stained and radiating magical power. The tight stretch of his shirts across his shoulders; the divot at the base of his throat, a few dark hairs curling up towards it.

Draco saw his back flexing, heard his moans, as he slid deep inside Harry, hungry to overwhelm him, contain and master him. He growled as he envisioned his cock pumping in and out, his hands squeezing and mauling Harry’s arse, watching it bounce with every hard thrust. Hot ribbons of come splashed over his chest as he milked his orgasm out with his hand, holding his balls with the other.

Even after he came, breathless and stunned, the visions didn’t stop. He saw himself and Harry enacting every filthy thing he’d seen strangers do to each other on Astoria’s laptop, and disgust was the farthest thing from his mind. He laughed out loud.

He wasn’t a homophobe. He was a homo _phile_.

He was a homo.

He was gay.

He lay there for a long while, eventually noting that it was nearing eight and he needed to get to the office. But first, he needed to write to Astoria.

_A,_

_I watched the videos. I strongly sense that you knew exactly what you were about, and I’m writing to confirm your suspicions._

_It would appear that I am gay._

_And incidentally (or perhaps not so incidentally), attracted to Potter._

He sent it off by owl, an indescribable sensation of dizzying freedom coming over him. It wasn’t entirely pleasant. Astoria replied while he was pulling on his trousers, and he unrolled the message quickly.

_Darling Draco,_

_Forgive me for failing to conceal my suspicions. But you can thank me for the orgasms you no doubt had, courtesy of Pornhub and Millie’s brilliant brain and my resourcefulness. We’ll talk about this more on Thursday, but rest assured—this changes nothing between us, unless you want it to._

Her last line struck him to the core. He clutched the note to his chest, tears forming behind his tightly-shut eyes. There was no doubt that he didn’t deserve such a selfless friend.

Draco sank to the floor, his shirt still in his hands, his trousers unbuttoned. The full implications of his discovery were beginning to sink in. He was gay. He was gay and had been gay for… oh, his whole life?

 _His whole life_ , and he’d just now twigged to it. Things were slotting into place like a jigsaw puzzle solved by a charm; chaos turned to a clear picture in the space of a moment. All manner of memories, nameless feelings, sudden decisions, muddied refusals, began to take on a sensible shape.

He didn’t have a low sex drive. He was gay.

He wasn’t a negligent, reluctant fiance. He was gay.

He wasn’t disgusted by his partner’s same-sex flirtations. He was gay, and in denial, and maybe jealous, and maybe envious, and maybe aroused.

Poor Astoria, how long had she suspected? Instantly he knew that she and Millie were in love. It was plain as day, or would be to anyone who hadn’t spent their whole lives suppressing their awareness of the possibility of a fulfilling, happy same-sex relationship.

Draco staggered to his feet and went to lay down on his bed, collapsing on top of the crumpled covers. His life flashed before him in fits and starts.

Lucius’s sneering face as he casts a surreptitious curse at a Muggle in a Pride shirt, making out with his boyfriend on the streets of London. _Filthy faggots_ , he’d said under his breath, and then, to Draco, he’d said, _Wizards do not condone such degeneracy. It should be stamped out._

The sad look on his mother’s face when she told Draco about her cousin, blasted off the family tree for taking up with another boy at school, losing his inheritance and all familial protection. She’d never spoken to him again. _Inverts deserve our pity, Draco_ , she’d said, _but you must never associate with them._

He and Blaise, drunk on Firewhiskey for the first time, and Draco recklessly asking about the rumours surrounding Mrs. Zabini. _Mother looks for weakness—men with something to hide, something she can exploit. Queer wizards make excellent marks, marrying to conceal their perverted natures,_ he said, contempt dripping from his voice. _They’re pathetic, they deserve everything they get._ Blaise laughed and Draco joined him.

Nott. Talking, laughing, getting closer. Leaning in, pressing his lips against Draco’s, and Draco pressing back, for a split second. Then panic—pushing him away, hard. Watching him fall down the flight of stairs, horror-struck at the sounds of his head hitting the hard wooden risers. The hatred, but worse yet, the misery on Nott’s face when he’d woken in the infirmary. Draco hadn’t even apologized, because to apologize would have been to acknowledge that he’d responded to the kiss, even if only for an instant.

Draco groaned and covered his head, a sob building in his throat. All these memories, waiting under the surface of his conscious mind like dark curses, gaining strength as they aged. He’d never let himself think about any of it; it all got shoved away as soon as it happened. What kind of person was he?

He couldn’t go into work like this.

With a wave of his wand, he summoned his owl and sent it off with a message to the Auror office admin. _Caught a chill over the weekend, too sick to come in. Using a PTO day._

Draco lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His tears dried on his face as he tried to clear his mind and settle his breathing. A shift in the light drew his gaze to the opposite side of the room. Harry’s stag Patronus was stepping delicately through the wards, setting them sparkling around its ethereal form.

_Do you need anything? I can send soup or send Agatha to the apothecary for potions. Let me know how you are._

Harry’s consideration filled Draco with unnameable emotions. No, he thought firmly as his eyes began to tear up again. Not unnameable. It was past time he put some names to his feelings. This false ignorance he’d been playing up to himself was an insult to the people he held dear. He owed them better than what he’d been giving them.

He owed it to Astoria to end the farce of their engagement. Draco had strung her along for years, and now it looked like he was holding her back from being with her true partner in Millicent. He realized that the only reason she’d played along with the engagement was for him, to help him mend his reputation. His heart ached with gratitude and sorrow and shame.

_Dearest A—_

_Your reassurance means the world to me, but I think we both know that the engagement should end. It should have ended a long time ago, but I was too willfully blind to see it. Please forgive me. Give Millie my love. D._

The owl flew off. He watched it go, then lay down again. Draco felt like he hadn’t slept for a hundred years. He must have nodded off, because he was awoken by the sound of the owl’s return. He waved the window open with his wand, and the owl flew to him where he lay.

_Draco my love, there is nothing to forgive. I wish you nothing but happiness, and as I know you do not have a talent for happiness, feel free to Floo me no matter the hour (as always, you twit). Our standing date on Thursday remains in my calendar and I have no wish to alter it, so I’ll see you in a few days. Love always, A._

He smiled as he read her words. How had they gone from reluctant betrotheds who barely spoke to this friendship that meant the world to him? Having her as the instigator and witness of this revelation was a stroke of luck; had it happened any other way, he’d no doubt be throwing a Malfoy tantrum worthy of the name.

Now his thoughts turned back to Harry. He owed it to his partner to admit to his sexuality. It was only fair. All those times he’d heard Harry talk about how difficult it was to be bisexual, and he’d kept silent, pretending to himself that he had nothing to add. He must have known, deep inside, or he would have known, if he’d had to courage to look inside of himself—before bloody Pornhub, of all things, had broken him wide open and made it impossible for him to keep up the facade any longer. Draco snickered to himself. It was darkly humorous, viewed at the right angle. His delusions were the victim of a sex-drive too long denied.

He decided he would tell Harry that he was gay as soon as he could. When Harry got back from the mission, that would be the right time. That would give Draco enough space to put his thoughts together, gather his courage. Coming out to Astoria was one thing. Coming out to his partner who was also his schoolboy rival who was also the reason he was not in prison who was also the saviour of the Wizarding world… and who was also the first man he’d ever consciously fantasized about… it was going to take some time to work out how to phrase that, exactly.

Draco got out of bed, feeling disoriented and muzzy-headed, and padded to the en suite to run a bath. As the water ran, he slid out of his trousers and pants and hung them up, turning to the full length mirror by the sink. He cast a critical eye over himself. Nice torso, lean stomach, some definition leftover from the grueling trainee days. Long legs, knees slightly knobby, thighs well-muscled, calves a bit underdeveloped. His arms were his point of pride, firm and strong, each muscle delineated clearly. He rolled his shoulders and struck a seductive pose, then burst out laughing.

The sight of his own face laughing sobered him, ironically. He didn’t think of himself as a happy person, but he’d been happy these last few years. Happier than he’d been in his life thus far. His cheeks had very slight laugh lines now, his eyes graced with minute crows feet. The first marks of age. He found he didn’t mind.

Draco’s gaze trailed down his body again. On his chest there were faint silvery scars that he was oddly fond of now. They served as a symbol of how even the most disastrous, painful circumstances can heal and fade, how much can change with time. Then lower, and his cock lay between his legs, long and growing hard as his thoughts strayed to Harry, and the marks they’d left on each other’s lives.

The bath was now full and he climbed in, displacing the water up to his chest. He rested his head on the edge of the tub and let the water lift his limbs as images from this morning’s fantasies drifted past his mind’s eye. Harry really was unbelievably gorgeous; it was a relief to finally be able to acknowledge that, instead of feeling vaguely uncomfortable about it. More than a relief—a slow burn of arousal ignited in his groin, building as he thought of the back of Harry’s neck, of his broad shoulders, his large and capable hands.

His cock was fully hard and for the first time, as he stroked himself, he pondered what Harry’s cock might look like. Did it curve? Was it thicker than Draco’s, dusky or rosy, did it leak precome when he was turned on? A groan escaped his throat and the wantonness of it was shocking. Draco wondered how Harry would respond if he made a sound like that into his ear. His hand moved faster over his erection, from root to tip, over and over, until he was gasping and coming to the vision of Harry’s come spurting from his own cock.

As his breath slowed, he sagged against the edge of the tub, sated and euphoric. After a long while, he soaped himself up and rinsed, then climbed out and toweled off. The euphoria had faded and was gradually replaced by unease. As Draco dressed himself in a long pair of soft lounge pants and a tunic, anxious thoughts circled his mind like ugly birds of prey.

For all that he was relieved to claim his sexuality at long last, and to recognize his attraction to Harry, it was beginning to dawn on him exactly how serious a problem that attraction might turn out to be. Harry was bisexual, but he hadn’t dated a man in ages. Or a woman, either. He might not be interested in dating at all, and even if he were, what were the chances he would want to date Draco? Pretty fucking low, he was now realizing. For one thing, Harry seemed to prefer dating Muggles. For another, he appeared to have a thing for meatheads and dullards, to judge by their conversations about his bed partners.

And that wasn’t even to address the issue of their work relationship. Robards would never... There was just no chance in Hades that they could date and remain partners. He enjoyed being Harry’s partner; he adored it, actually, he’d never felt such a level of trust and care with anyone. How could he endanger that just to get his rocks off?

It was a damned good thing he’d called in sick today; he would hate to be having these sickening thoughts in Harry’s presence. Draco considered whether he should call out sick the next few days as well. The mission wasn’t scheduled to start until the weekend, so his presence wouldn’t be required.

He’d just sat down to compose another owl when there was a vigorous scratching at his window.

_Mission moved up. Emergency meeting tomorrow 8am, mandatory attendance all team members. Take some Pepper-Up potion._

Robards was such a bell-end. Draco’s stomach twisted at the thought of facing Harry with his emotions haywire and his libido suddenly activated after its long dormancy. On the other hand, facing Nott would be a positive delight, if only he could come up with a plausible way to show him that far from being a bigot, he was as gay as Nott.

Except that—oh fuck, buggering bollocks. He owed Nott an apology, too. Tomorrow would be sheer hell.

 

***

 

Draco stared at himself in the mirror, searching himself for any sign of his newfound self-knowledge. Other than the purplish smudges under his eyes that belied his total inability to sleep the previous night, he couldn’t detect anything. He was being ridiculous.

In spite of himself, he’d taken extra care in dressing today. He’d selected a soft medium blue shirt which brought out the flecks of blue in his gray wool trousers and waistcoat. The fine silver ourobourous pattern on his tie matched both his [snake belt buckle](https://www.gucci.com/us/en/pr/men/mens-accessories/mens-belts/leather-belt-with-snake-buckle-p-458935CVE0T1000?gclid=Cj0KCQjwqsHWBRDsARIsALPWMEP_Jsl6X6Rq3hFMDQFtHkOThZwVP8gGbp05AAyuvw7WV1D3zDiI7CgaAlEnEALw_wcB%20) and his ring. He looked good. Not, perhaps, as good as he’d like, but good enough. He swallowed and straightened his spine, then Floo’d directly to the Ministry atrium.

As soon as his feet hit the green polished tiles of the Ministry floor, he felt like he’d swallowed a snitch, a fluttering lump filling his throat. He should have planned what to say to Harry. It was suddenly clear to him that he wouldn’t be able to interact with him normally, and he had foolishly believed he’d have time to plan out some kind of hybrid apology/coming out speech. He walked to the DMLE offices in a blank fog, willing his brain to come up with some plan of action, but no coherent thoughts coalesced.

The meeting started in ten minutes, so Draco went to the kitchen for some coffee, praying that someone had started the percolator already.

Someone had, and that someone was still helping themselves to coffee, and unfortunately that someone was also Harry Potter. Draco inhaled sharply and stepped back but it was too late, Harry was turning around.

“Oh! Malfoy, you look…” his gaze swept over Draco’s now faintly trembling body and he paused. “Better? No, I don’t mean… you didn’t look bad, before. You look—fine. Good.”

“Thank you,” Draco replied stiffly. Harry obviously thought he’d been faking his illness, probably out of embarrassment over the neck-kissing incident. Well, he wasn’t far off base.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow up to check that you were alright, yesterday. The news came in about Vosges and then we were stuck in meetings the rest of the day. You’re alright, though?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Draco ground out, then cleared his throat. Harry was still standing in front of the percolator. Draco moved towards it, hoping Harry would make room and give him a moment to collect himself with a strong mug of coffee, but Harry just stood there holding his own mug, looking gormless. “If I could just…” he pointed around Harry’s body and Harry startled and stepped out of the way.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. Help yourself.” He leaned against the counter and sipped from his “World’s Best Saviour” mug, which Draco had given to him as a prank during their first year as partners. Turned out that Harry loved it.

Draco poured his coffee and drank about half the mug in one gulp, wanting to flee the room but forcing himself to act normally. Which would have been easier, perhaps, if Harry weren’t acting so oddly. He must be nervous about the mission, Draco intuited.

“So, you’re leaving after this strategy meeting, then,” Draco began, and kicked himself. If Harry were nervous about the mission, that’s the last thing they ought to talk about. Unless it wasn’t nervousness about the mission. Maybe something had changed between yesterday and today. Maybe Nott had got to Harry, convinced him that Draco really was homophobic.

Harry nodded, still looking into his coffee. “Yeah, taking a Portkey to a hotel outside of Lisbon, where they’re suddenly hosting some big celebration. Intelligence suggests that they’re using that as a distraction while they make contact with a new supplier, so Robards wants us to crash the party. Not exactly sure how we’re going to do that, to be honest.” He lifted his head and gave Draco a rueful smile that was somehow still cocky, and Draco’s heart clenched.

He was in love with Harry.

Draco stood there, staring. He only realized that he’d missed his chance to cover the awkwardness and say something when Harry haltingly said, “Well, anyway, I’d better go change into the clothes for my cover identity. Robards wants to run some final tests directly after the meeting and then we’ll be off. See you in there?”

Draco barely managed to nod his head, feeling like he was frozen in place. Harry walked out and Draco’s gaze followed him, lingering helplessly on his arse. He cast a quick Muffliato and let out the horrified groan that had been building in his throat the whole time Harry’d been talking.

“What the _fuck_ , Draco?” he asked himself, his voice rough with despair. “What the ever-loving fuck are you going to do?”

This was so much worse than simple attraction. Not that Draco had had any idea how he’d been going to handle sexual attraction, but the point was moot now. How in Dante’s seven hells was he going to deal with _being in love_ with his partner?

Badly, he suspected.

The meeting had already convened by the time Draco managed to convince his feet not to carry him back to the Atrium and through the Floo to the safety of his parlor. Robards gave him a severe look but didn’t otherwise call attention to his tardiness. Nott flicked a sneering glance at him then went right back to devouring Harry with his eyes, which for some strange reason didn’t bother Draco as much as it had before.

Draco knew he was handsomer than Nott, smarter than Nott, wittier than Nott, just all-around superior to Nott in every single way. Harry didn’t want Nott. It was obviously only his commitment to the mission that allowed him to tolerate Nott’s attentions.

This pleasant interlude of positive self-esteem was shattered to pieces when Nott put his hand over Harry’s.

Draco conjured a notebook and quill, having entirely failed to go to the office beforehand. He focused on that, rather than on Nott’s thumb rubbing the back of Harry’s hand, which lay quiescent, accepting the attention. The meeting droned on and Draco set his quill to recording it since none of the information was going in his ears, much less being processed by his brain.

At some point, Robards called his name and asked if he had practiced with the alert spell, so that he could immediately tune in and translate for the team when needed. Draco confirmed the success of his tests. It was agreed he could stay at home during the mission because he would be on-call round the clock. Then he went back to zoning out, because it was easier than concealing his reactions to the little teasing touches Nott kept subjecting Harry to.

“Alright, let’s see the final version of these disguises. Stand up, Potter.”

Harry stood and the room got about twenty percent brighter all of a sudden, as Draco registered [what exactly he was wearing](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/356488126740123077/). A white linen suit jacket, perfectly fitted to his frame, was worn over a silky pale camel cardigan. The sleeves had been artfully pushed up to show his forearms. “Go on,” Nott said with an evil grin. Harry looked down at himself, then reluctantly undid both the top two buttons of the cardigan as well as the one at the bottom, showing a shocking amount of chiseled chest and a mesmerizing glimpse of his joytrail. 

Nott made a ‘twirl’ motion with his hand, barely controlling the smug look on his face. Harry blushed and turned around, showing the tightly fitting matching suit pants. They molded to his arse in the way that Draco had always longed to see and only now realized why.

He averted his eyes as soon as he politely could, but it didn’t do any good. Draco’s cock was stiffening in his pants, his whole body hot with awareness. He could feel Nott’s eyes on him, assessing how uncomfortable he was. He straightened and tried to look impassively at Harry, which was when Nott activated the glamour.

A shimmering haze distorted Harry’s features for a moment, and then evaporated to reveal a ludicrously good-looking man. He looked a lot like Harry, albeit with a straighter, slimmer nose, perfectly straight teeth, sensual dark eyes and flawlessly styled hair. The result was objectively handsomer than Harry by a considerable amount, but it left Draco cold. He preferred Harry as he was, with his slightly crooked teeth and the remnants of acne scars and the bump on the bridge of his nose.

Harry glanced at Draco with his dark eyes and Draco hated that he couldn’t read his expression with the glamour on. He tried not to scowl but he was fairly certain he failed. Robards was going on and on about how perfectly executed Nott’s glamour was and asked Valencia to confirm how long he’d been able to maintain it and his own glamour in tests.

“Three hours, sir, although Nott’s magic is depleted after such a long effort and he needs to rest for at least six hours afterwards.” Draco wanted to openly scoff at Nott’s glamour-sustaining endurance—Draco had beat that time by nearly double in _training_ , for Circe’s sake.

“Hm. That should be sufficient. Nott, let’s see yours now."

Nott stood up, looking insufferably self-satisfied. [He was dressed ](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/3448137190098821/)in a thin black v-neck pullover that looked to be made of cashmere. It skated over his chest in an obscene way, an effect enhanced by the deepness of the vee, which plunged almost absurdly low due to the aviator sunglasses clipped in the neckline. It was paired with dark grey waxed-denim trousers that hugged his hips, daringly accented by a brown belt. Draco hated to admit it, but he looked good.

Harry wasn’t looking at him, however, a fact which Draco couldn’t help but note. Robards asked Nott to demonstrate his own glamour and he waved his wand, changing his appearance in subtle ways. His hair was lighter, longer, less frizzy. His skin was paler, his unremarkable nose suddenly patrician, his cheekbones high and sharp. In fact, he looked… fuck ‘subtle,’ he’d fucking gone and cribbed Draco’s face!

Draco felt his nostrils flare but he said nothing, even when Nott turned his gaze on him with a challenging smirk. The lips were nothing like his own, he had to admit—ludicrously full and lush, and the sneer on them was less hateful and more seductive than Nott would ever be able to manage with his own lipless mouth. The overall effect was disconcerting, like an homage that was also a blistering criticism. Draco wanted to strangle him.

Robards congratulated them and dismissed the rest of the team, and everyone rose to go back to their offices, while presumably Harry and Nott were off to the Portkey office and thence to Lisbon.

Draco got his bewilderment and irritation under control before he stood up. Most of the room had already cleared, though Harry and Nott were talking with Valencia, Nodoguro and Robards near the door. As Draco made his way out, Harry touched his shoulder and said, “Hey.”

Draco came to a stop and turned to him, noticing how Nott was surreptitiously monitoring them. “Good luck, Potter,” he said around the sudden constriction in his throat. “I’m sure it will all go off brilliantly.”

Harry nodded, distracted. “You’ve got the translation alert set? We didn’t get a chance to practice it, but you’ve done it before, yeah?”

“Yes, Potter,” Draco said, bristling a little bit. “I’ve done it loads of times, it’ll be fine.”

“Good, good,” Potter said, looking somehow both sheepish and distracted. “I’ll be hearing your voice soon, then.”

Draco blinked at him. That was quite a way to phrase it. “Yes, I suppose so,” he croaked. “Safe travels.”

“You too,” Harry said, then blushed all the way down his chest, which was still exposed by the unbuttoned cardigan. “I mean… you know what I mean.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile a bit at Harry’s blunder. “I know what you mean. Be careful.”

“I will,” Harry said, giving him a strangely intense look, and Draco’s breath caught. He felt like Harry were trying to say something indirectly, something important, but he couldn’t think what it might be.

As soon as Harry and Nott had left, Draco Floo’d home where he would stay for the duration of the mission. There was no way to know when the team would make contact with Vosges and his crew, so he had to be prepared for any eventuality.

Draco pointed his wand at his ear, activating the listening channel on his end. When he got the alert, he’d activate his voice channel which would transmit his voice to Harry and Nott’s inner ear. It wasn’t likely they’d run into their targets before tomorrow, but better safe than sorry.

It was just past noon but Draco had no appetite. He settled on the divan and spread out the files he’d brought from the office. They needed to be reviewed and besides, the last thing he needed was to wallow in what appeared to be shaping into an early mid-life crisis.

Draco had tossed the Hobart file aside and was picking up the Sabahi file when the translator comm alert sounded in his ear.

“-ice to make your acquaintance, Justin,” purred a mellow, if slightly nasal, tenor voice. Draco would bet that was Giles. “And you, Brian. What are you fellows doing here?”

“Oh, we’re celebrating our engagement, aren’t we, Justin?” Nott’s voice. “I finally got him to say yes.” Draco’s body went unpleasantly hot all over. They hadn’t talked about pretending to be fiances. That hadn’t been discussed at any meetings, had it?

“Yes, love, and you’re so sweet to bring me to Lisbon.” Harry’s voice, warm and affectionate and natural. Not affected. Draco’s lips thinned. He felt a migraine coming on. “It’s been a dream of mine to come here, and my Brian here—” there was a thwap as though Harry had playfully hit Nott, “says he likes to make my dreams come true. How could I say no?”

“Oh, that is so sweet. Darling, isn’t that sweet?”

“Ja, erg zoet.” That voice was deep and urbane, the slightest hint of tolerant amusement and sarcasm lurking in it. Vosges. Draco activated his voice channel and spoke. “Yes, very sweet.”

“Oh, never mind him, he’s got a heart of stone. He’s only here because he’s addicted to my arse.” Giles let out a sprightly laugh and Harry and Nott followed suit. There was a splashing sound and a giggly yelp, and Draco deduced they’d met in the hotel pool.

“And what brings you both here? Business or pleasure?” Nott asked. _Merlin’s grave, could he be more obvious? Why not just announce, “I’m undercover law enforcement and I'm going to interrogate you now!”_ Draco wondered.

“Oh, Mr. Big owns the hotel,” Giles said carelessly, but Draco could read his entire life of poverty in the tone of pride and awe hiding within his attempt at nonchalance. “We’re throwing a shindig to celebrate the merger of one of his businesses—very boring, let’s not go into the details-- Oh! Darling! They should come!”

“Ze zouden helemaal over je borst moeten komen,” Vosges said blandly, and Draco blushed. “They should come all over your chest,” he translated, and heard Harry choke down a startled laugh.

“Hm, you think so?” Giles said, voice rich with flirtatious intent. “Well, boys, my husband agrees that you’d both be more than welcome to come to our party! It’s on Friday evening, just a few days from now! Can you make it? Will you still be here?”

“We’d love to come,” Nott drawled. Circe and Morgana, he sounded like a twat. “Coming is Justin’s favorite thing.”

Giles burst into a peals of delighted laughter at that, and Harry joined him, just a second late. “You arsehole,” he said through his laughter, but the laughter sounded forced while the “arsehole” part rang all too true. Draco smirked to himself, his headache dissipating slightly. At least Harry was realizing what a boundary-pushing jerk Nott really was.

“Tell me I’m lying, love,” Nott continued.

“You’re lying,” Harry replied, sounding far too husky for Draco’s taste. Then the sounds of kissing assaulted Draco’s ear and only his consummate professionalism prevented him from ending the charm and sending in his two-weeks notice.

“With a package like that, I bet you can keep him coming all night long,” Giles said with a sultry growl that was only partly feigned. Giles clearly had a boner for Nott, the little idiot. Then again, if he was with Vosges, his tastes were clearly warped.

“Je zou morgen allemaal moeten gaan dansen. Plezier hebben met de sletten.”

“You should take them dancing tomorrow night. Have some fun with the young sluts,” Draco says, as emotionlessly as possible.

“Ja, darling, goed idee. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“We don’t have any plans, do we, honey?” Harry said vapidly. Draco was starting to dislike this Justin fellow. He could visualize all too well the clinging that went along with that fawning voice.

“Would you like to go dancing with me and a few friends? There’s a wonderful little club called Music Box that my friend DJs at on Wednesday nights. I bet you two look divine dancing together.”

“Justin loves dancing for me, don’t you, pet? Turn around and show them that arse.”

There was a sharp inhale and then three different noises of appreciation, apparently one each from Giles, Vosges and Nott. Draco felt nauseated, but he could hardly blame them. He’d seen that arse and it really was quite… quite something. His headache was back, but now his cock was aching as well. Angrily aroused was a new sensation for him, to say the least. He didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“Erg fijn. Delen ze?”

“Very nice. Do they share?” Draco said, his fists clenching. So much for his hope that Vosges would be opposed to extracurricular sex.

Giles snickered and replied, “Jij hond. My husband wants to know if you share.”

There was a short silence, followed by Nott saying, “We’re open to all kinds of experiences.” Draco couldn’t help but notice that Harry didn’t say anything, and his heart gave a little skip.

“We’re in the penthouse, come on up when you’re ready. I usually head out to the club around eleven, so come by after nine and we’ll have some drinks.” Draco could hear the leer in Giles’ voice and deeply hoped that Harry would crack this case before he ended up trapped in a room with those lecherous slags.

There was some more splashing and some farewells between Harry and Nott and Giles, then the communication charm was Finite’d. Draco’s inner ear felt strangely hollow in the aftermath. He turned on the wireless to mask the sensation, then picked up the file he’d been holding when the charm had activated. It failed to hold his interest and he tossed it back down. Quite forcefully.

Fucking Nott. Fucking Giles. Fucking Vosges, that horny dog. Jij hond, indeed. Draco paced around his apartment, trying to pretend to himself that he wasn’t seething with jealousy, but ultimately giving it up as a bad job.

He’d never felt anything like this before. Truth be told, he’d known the nature of Astoria’s ‘friendship’ with Millie long before, and it hadn’t bothered him one bit. Well, the answer why was now obvious. But still, to suddenly be saddled with an emotion this intense and this unpleasant and to be totally helpless against it… he didn’t know how to cope.

Probably ruminating on it endlessly wasn’t the right way to cope, but what did he know? Draco picked up the book he’d been enjoying and read a few pages before realizing he hadn’t taken in any of the words his eyes had skimmed over. He closed it, exasperated, and decided to take a walk as the weather was quite fine.

He threw on his second-best Muggle wool coat and Apparated to the entryway, then stalked out to the streets of London, taking a deep breath. He took his usual afternoon constitutional route, past the flower seller and the corner shop and the luthier (surely one of the last left in the city), distantly noting which of his neighbors were out and about but really mulling over Harry’s voice and whether he’d been enjoying the attention from Nott.

Nott had sounded so assured, and Harry so… so something. Not weak. Nor submissive. But … there was something in the way Harry followed Nott’s lead that made Draco realize that Harry tended to follow Draco’s lead in many of their interactions. For all that Harry could be a loose cannon and a maverick at work, when Draco dug his heels in or gave him a direct order, Harry always relented. Always.

It wasn’t that Harry was subservient to Draco—far from it. They fought constantly, often in jest, sometimes for real. But he clearly trusted Draco, when it came down to it. He trusted Draco and he… he deferred to him.

Draco wondered if he would be like that in the bedroom as well as their office. 

He came to a dead stop as that thought took hold of him, causing a woman to bump into his back and unleash a truly impressive stream of profanity at him. “Sorry, sorry, my fault entirely,” he murmured ineffectually at her, then started walking again, like an Inferi, towards his flat.

Once there, he summoned a glass and a bottle of Ogden’s 50 Year Reserve and poured himself three fingers of whiskey. He sat and sipped at it slowly, carefully not thinking about anything in particular, until he could feel the shock wearing off. Then he prepared himself some noodles and ate them, still keeping his mind as blank as possible. Once they were finished, he rinsed his dishes slowly at the sink, putting them on drainer and staring out the window at the cityscape while his suppressed thoughts slowly came trickling back.

These kinds of revelations really needed to stop happening to him so quickly. It was all bit much, he thought pleadingly. Gay, and in love, and apparently a… he wasn’t even sure of the word. Dominatrix was definitely not right, but… something. Dominating. 

Dominant.

He was a... a dominant. That sounded right. He wanted to dominate Harry. His eyes fluttered shut as his cock leapt.

The images from the porn clips came back to him and this time he could see all the overtones of domination. The man pressing his lover into the wall, restraining his hands. The man tied to the table, completely at the mercy of will of another.

Draco gave into the inevitable and walked into his bedroom, stripping to his pants and then collapsing on the bed.

The second call came the next evening. Draco had spent most of the day resisting the urge to open Millicent’s laptop, which he still hadn’t given back to Astoria. At around 4pm, his willpower abruptly ran out when random words and phrases uttered by Lee Jordan in his gorgeous baritone, almost the timbre and depth of Harry’s voice, kept taking on erotic overtones. Rigid. Pliant. Begging.

Finally, he stormed across the room, grabbed the silvery contraption and flopped on the divan with it on his lap. Astoria’s instructions on how to search for webpages had been shockingly simple, and Google turned out to be surprisingly obliging in offering him options for “sexy dominant.” Unfortunately, most of those options were of greased, muscular men with shiny black hoods or grimacing features.

He scrolled down the page and eventually found an image that appealed. A tall man in a suit, with his hands shoving down the back of another man’s joggers, revealing a juicy, perfect arse. Clicking on that took him to a whole host of clips under the banner “D/s.” These videos didn’t feature so much of the unfamiliar black leather implements and painful-looking restraints. Instead, they focused on one party having his way with the other; taking and giving pleasure with a firm, decisive hand.

Draco was on his twentieth or thirtieth video, cock out and skin slightly itchy with the aftereffects of multiple cleaning charms, when the communication charm chimed in his ear again.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to wear this,” Harry said, and Nott chuckled in a suggestive way that made Draco’s eye twitch. He tucked his cock into his pants and tried to clear his mind. It didn’t work, since now he was attempting to picture what “this” could be. A dozen possibilities swarmed his mind; leather pants? Mesh shirt? Lace panties?

“You look stunning, pet,” Nott said, then there was a firm rapping noise. They must be at the door of Vosges’ penthouse.

“Well, look who it is! Darling, our new friends are here!” Giles sounded like he was already high on something. If he offered anything banned by the Wizarding Council on Mind-altering Substances, Harry and Nott would have probable cause for a warrant and the case would be blown wide open, but Draco was willing to bet they wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Come in, come in! Justin, you look…. Nnngh, darling, look at him!” Giles tittered. “Couldn’t you just eat him up?”

“Ik wil kijken hoe je hem opeet,” Vosges said, the filthy old goat. “I want to watch you eat him out,” Draco said, forcing himself not to think about anyone eating Harry out.

“You read my mind!” Giles laughed again. “Follow me, boys, we have lots of things for you to try.”

“Oh my god,” Harry said breathily, and a burst of arousal sizzled through Draco’s groin. “What is all this stuff?” He sounded appropriately naive and enthusiastic, not like a cop who was trying to get someone to incriminate themselves.

“Oh, we’ve got some coke and some molly, those are CBD jellies, aren’t they adorable? If you’re not a stoner like my husband, though, you should only eat half at a time.”

“Is this…” Nott drifted off, clearly having no idea what he was looking at but hoping to lead Giles into telling him.

“Oh, I forget, what is that, darling?”

“Nectar van de goden,” Vosges drawled, sounding bored. Or maybe he was stoned—with no visuals, it was hard to tell. “Nectar of the gods,” Draco translated, wondering if this was it, this was the bust. They were looking for a powdered lust potion that mimicked the Muggle drug ecstasy but had a compulsion component that was highly illegal, thanks to Granger’s reforms of magic related to mind control.

“That’s some hallucinogen he likes, I’ve never tried it,” Giles said dismissively. Draco sighed in disappointment. If Giles wasn’t pushing this stuff on them, it probably wasn’t what they were looking for. These guys were just the type to drug and fuck some unsuspecting young men.Of course, it had been unlikely they’d have it out in the open, but you never knew.

“I’ll have some… coke?” Harry said, and Draco’s mouth fell open. He listened in shock as Giles fell all over himself to do something noisy with the coke and then heard three loud snorts.

Where was Nott? Why was he letting Harry do dangerous Muggle drugs? This was outrageous!

“I’ll have a whiskey, if you don’t mind,” Nott said, a thread of … something in his voice. Anticipation?

Giles poured Nott his whiskey. Then he did a line of coke and offered Harry another, and Harry said, “No, no not yet, I don’t think so but it is brilliant stuff, isn’t it! Do you have any cigarettes? I could really go for a smoke right now!”

He sounded like an overexcited puppy and Draco was torn between worry for his safety, anger at Nott for letting him rush in and do something reckless like that, and intrigue at the mental image of Harry smoking, something he knew Harry did sometimes, but had never seen.

There was some inane chatter and then Giles called out, “Darling, we’re off to Music Box now. Don’t wait up for us, but don’t be surprised if we all pile on top of you at four in the morning.”

“Ik zal bij de haven zijn om 4 uur, mijn liefste. De monsters moeten worden geëscorteerd en ik zal uiteindelijk de fabrikant persoonlijk ontmoeten.”

“I will be at the docks at 4, the samples have to be escorted and I will finally meet the manufacturer face to face,” Draco said, heart racing.

This was it, this was the break they needed! But… shit. Harry and Nott needed to make it to the docks, but there was no way they were going to be able to get out of dancing with Giles. He would keep them out for hours, pressing drinks and drugs on them, pressing himself on them too, no doubt. The thought made Draco sick. He was glad, at the very least, that he now knew that feeling was attributable to something other than prejudice.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Giles said petulantly. “Come on, my beautiful boys, there’s a car waiting downstairs.” The comm charm switched off as soon as the door closed behind them. Draco seethed with frustration. They needed to be in contact with him—if they were going to have trouble making it to the dock to do reconnaissance, he could arrange to have an emergency team Portkey in.

After a long debate with himself over the wisdom of stepping outside his team role, Draco was heartbeats away from sending his Patronus to Robards when his comm charm activated again.

“Malfoy?” It was Harry. “Are you there?”

He activated his voice channel, heart pounding at hearing Harry’s voice addressing him, as if he were whispering in his ear. “Yes, I’m here. Is everything alright? Do you need me to—”

“Yeah, yes, you heard what Vosges said, we have to get down to the docks but Giles is all over me so I can’t leave, and Nott refuses to leave me alone with him, I don’t know what to do.”

Draco was both relieved that Nott was showing halfway decent judgment about Harry’s wellbeing and annoyed that it probably came down to Nott wanting it to be his hands in Harry’s pants instead of Giles’.

“I was about to send my Patronus to Robards, to request an emergency team to do the surveilling for you.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, yes, do that. Do that, that’s good. That will work. I'm way too fucked up to send a Patronus right now. You should send it, that's perfect!” Harry sounded even more hyper than before, he must have done more coke with Giles. Draco hated not being there to protect him.

“I’ll make sure it happens, don’t worry. And be safe,” he added. “No more drugs. Make sure Nott stops drinking. You can make some excuse to leave.”

“Yeah, I will, yeah, for sure. You’re right. You’re always right, Draco. You’re a good partner, you know that? The best ever, actually—”

Draco cut him off before he could babble on further. He didn’t want to hear this kind of thing from Harry only because a Muggle drug loosened his tongue. “Thanks, Potter, I know. Go to Nott and let him know we’ve got a plan.”

“Okay, yeah, will do,” Harry said rapid-fire, then the comm charm shut off.

 

Draco finally got to sleep about 3am that night, having alerted Robards and ensured that Vosges’ trip to the docks would be monitored. Nightmares plagued him through the night, of Harry coming to harm, of Harry falling into Nott’s arms, of Giles forcing himself on him. He woke in a sweat, a headache behind his eyes. Stumbling into the bathroom for a pain potion, he glanced at the wall clock and noticed the time was 10am. He tossed down the potion and raced to the owl perch, where an owl waited with a note from Robards.

_Good work, Malfoy. We ID’d the maker and have multiple witnesses of the target with him. Won’t be long, now._

Draco let out a huge sigh of relief. Thank Merlin, it worked. Perhaps if the rest of the team were as clever and tireless as he was, they could solve this before Harry had to spend any more time with Nott or that slag Giles, or worse yet, his lecherous and felonious husband.

He took a long bath, complete with frothy bubbles and a full coffee service on the tray. Working from home had its benefits. Which included getting a firm grip on himself as his nightmares from the night before transformed themselves into fantasies where he was the one dancing with Harry at a club. This time, though, Harry wasn't in the grip of some Muggle drug. His eyes were hazy with lust, his voice slow and low as he whispered into Draco's ear all the things he wanted Draco to do to him.

After the bath, Draco sat down with his book, which utterly failed to hold his attention. The laptop beckoned from the high shelf he’d put it on the night before, hoping to dissuade himself from going down the porn rabbit hole again. He should have just returned it to Astoria. Still, there it was, full of clips and images and possibilities and knowledge, offering to teach him what he needed to know, what he should have be learning all these years. It was only good sense to play catch-up with the help of Google and Pornhub, he reasoned to himself as he got up and padded over to the shelf.

As he was reaching up for it, though, his inner ear crackled and Draco heard Nott’s voice.

“—got a runic message from Valencia that they identified the supplier. They’ll send an encrypted owl with his picture so we can keep an eye out at the party tomorrow night and put a tracking charm on him. There’s not much to do until then.”

Draco frowned. The comm charm had activated but clearly Nott and Harry were nowhere near Vosges. He activated his voice charm and said, “Nott? Potter? Is there a reason why I’m hearing this? Do you need something?”

“I feel awful,” Harry said, clearly not in response to him. That was odd.

“Hello? Potter?”

“Why did you let me do so much coke last night?”

Draco started to respond but realized that the voice activation hadn’t worked; Harry couldn’t hear him. Which meant he probably hadn’t intended to activate the comm charm and Draco shouldn’t be listening to this.

“Because you’re adorable when you’re all fucked up like that. And slutty, Great Merlin, I thought Giles was going to come in his pants with the way you were grinding on him.”

Speaking of grinding, Draco’s teeth were about to shatter. Nott sounded fond and indulgent; Draco could practically see him leaning over Harry, brushing his hair off his face and giving him a shoulder rub. He sounded flirtatious, too. Could Harry hear it? Did he like it?

“Well, next time I’m tempted to do Muggle street drugs for sake of a cover, remind me to… just… not. Ugh, would you get me some water?”

“Avec plaisir,” Nott said, the tosser. His accent was atrocious and who said things like that anyway?

Harry moaned and said, “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Anything else I can get you? You look terrible. Gorgeous but terrible.”

“Thanks again,” Harry said dryly. “I think.”

“It’s a look not many people can pull off,” Nott smarmed, his voice getting louder in Draco’s ear. He must be getting closer to Harry. Probably crawling on top of him. “Speaking of pulling things off--”

Harry laughed, and Draco thought he detected some discomfort. There were some rustling noises. “What are you doing?”

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Harry. Take them off.”

Draco’s blood ran cold, then instantly hot, fever-struck and nauseated.

“Theo,” Harry started, his voice soft and wary. Oh shit, Draco thought, was that his ‘letting him down gently’ voice or was it his ‘reluctantly being won over’ voice? Was Draco going to have to sit here and listen while Nott and Harry… while they…

“Harry,” Nott returned, voice playfully warning. “If you don’t do as I say, I’m going to have give you a spank.”

Harry laughed again, this time with definite discomfort. There were more rustling noises. “We’re on a mission. I don’t think that--”

“Shhhhhh… what they don’t know can’t hurt them. I know you like to be pushed around a little bit,” Nott purred. Draco’s fingernails bit into his palms. “So why don’t you let me help you feel good? You were driving me crazy last night, all those noises you were making, how you danced with Giles…”

“That was for the case. Let go of me.” Harry’s voice was suddenly very firm. “You’re misreading things, Nott. All that was for our cover. Nothing more.”

“Oh, so I’m misreading the look on your face when I give you a direct order? You’re a submissive, Harry, I’m not blind. You like it when I tell you what to do.”

“That is irrelevant. Get off of me!” There were some heavy breaths and a thump. To Draco’s relief, Harry sounded more exasperated than anything else. “I’m not doing this with you, Nott. Not now, not ever. You are my _colleague_ and I should report you for conduct unbecoming to an Auror. And even if none of that was the case, I have feelings for someone else.”

There was silence for a few heartbeats. Draco could count them because his heart was pounding in his chest, hard and fast. His hearing was fading out, all his systems overwhelmed. Harry had feelings for someone.

Who?

But more importantly in the moment, was Nott going to get angry? Force himself on Harry? Draco realized he was starting to panic and made himself calm down, at least enough to focus on the sounds filtering in from the comm charm.

Eventually Nott let out a long sigh and said, “I thought you might have. I was hoping I was wrong.”

Harry didn’t say anything immediately, but when he did, his voice was cool, almost expressionless. “I wouldn’t have brought it up, but you weren't backing off. I can’t believe you didn’t stop when I told you to stop.”

Nott laughed, a brittle sound. “You are a submissive though, I’m right about that much, aren’t I?”

“Nott, I’m not going to talk about that with you. It’s not… we’re work colleagues. I like you well enough, when you aren’t forcing yourself on me, but that’s unacceptable. If you come for me like that again, I will hex you stupid and report you to Robards immediately.”

“It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?” Nott’s voice was resigned and bitter. He also sounded quieter, which meant he was farther away from Harry. Draco felt himself unclench a fraction. Then he registered what Nott had just said and a thrill jolted through him.

“I’m not discussing that with you. I’m sorry.”

“You will be sorry.” What the fuck… was that a threat? Draco stood up, part of him getting ready to… what, Apparate to Portugal?

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Nott huffed, sounding on the verge of a tantrum. “Come _on_ , Potter, you have to know what kind of person Malfoy is!”

“You mean, the kind of person who single-handedly saved our mission after we got sidelined by a drunk, coked-up party boy?”

“He overstepped his role, Robards won’t be pleased.”

“He did what needed to be done for the success of the mission. He had his mind on the case, unlike some people I could mention.”

Nott made an outraged noise. “He’s just trying to make us look incompetent, and make a name for himself! Trust me, Malfoy hasn’t changed a whit since school. I should know,” he said darkly. Draco’s stomach roiled. _Here we go_ , he thought. _Here’s his big moment to throw me under the Knight bus. Fuck, I should have apologized to him before the mission._

“Malfoy’s changed quite a lot, Nott.”

“It’s just for show! Underneath, he’s still the same social-climbing, devious bigot he’s always been. You must see that.”

“Didn’t we talk about that word?” Harry’s voice was low and dangerous. Draco shivered at the sound of it. But it didn’t deter Nott.

“Well, here’s something we didn’t talk about. You should know that back at school, he… he attacked me.”

“Join the club,” Harry said derisively. “Malfoy attacked me about twenty times. If he only attacked you once, I consider you got off lightly.” Draco bristled at that; surely it hadn’t been twenty times. Well, he supposed it depended on what one counted as an attack.

“No, I mean. Look, I’ve known I was gay since before I manifested magic. And I wasn’t exactly in the closet at school.”

“I remember.”

What the fuck did that mean, Draco wondered. Harry was aware of Nott’s sexuality at school? Did they have a… a history? He buried his face in his hands. Perhaps he should try to cancel the charm from his end. But he couldn't leave Harry alone with Nott like that, not now.

“Well, Malfoy gave me signals, you know. He made me believe he was interested. I was skeptical, of course, because if anyone knew how homophobic Purebloods could be, I did. It made no sense to me that someone of his position—not only the heir of the Malfoy fortune but the son of the Dark Lord’s right-hand man—would risk being seen by anyone as a queer. Oh, don’t give me that look, that’s what our families call people like us. Anyway, he kept up the surreptitious looks and the lip-biting and … well, it was just obvious that he wanted _something_ from me. And since I was far lower on the hierarchy, I had nothing to offer him socially. There was really only one thing it could be. And he’s fit, so—one day in sixth year, I kissed him.” Nott paused for dramatic effect.

“And?” Harry prompted after a moment.

“And he pushed me down the stairs leading to the common room. I broke three ribs and they had to fuse some vertebrae.”

There was a long silence. Nott didn’t sound hysterical or bitter. He had played his hand perfectly, giving just the right amount of detail to make Draco look heartless and no more. Of course Nott hadn’t mentioned that as soon as Draco had realized what he’d done, he cast a cushioning charm, without which Nott’s injuries would have been much more severe. Of course he hasn’t mentioned that Draco had kissed him back, for just a moment.

“Couldn’t it have been an accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

“Even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t necessarily a result of homophobia. Did he ever say anything to you about hating ‘queers’ or that gay people were disgusting or anything like that?”

“He didn’t have to. Look, I’m sure he’s played nice with you, he’d be a fool not to. But you didn’t live with him for seven years. You don’t know him, not really.”

“Neither do you, not anymore.” Nott made a derisive noise and Harry interrupted him. “Look, I understand why you think he’s just sucking up, Nott, but he and I have been partners for two years. We’ve spent weeks at a time in each other’s pockets, and we’ve become friends—good friends. We trust each other. I trust Draco with my life. Hell, I trust him with yours, or with anyone’s, for that matter. He’s proven time and again that he’s not only one of the top Aurors in the department, but a person of courage and creativity and compassion. You might have known him better in school, but I know him as an adult, as someone who’s consistently made good choices and demonstrated good faith, even when the chips are down. I know in my heart that… you know what, I think we’d better talk about something else now.”

“Fine, if you’re determined to let Malfoy pull the wool over your eyes. One day, your trust in him will come back to bite you in the arse. He’s really not worth it, Harry.”

“Thanks for your concern. Might be more believable if you kept your hands to yourself.” Harry sounded exhausted. Draco looked down at his hands and found them shaking. Harry still believed in him. Nott had done his worst and Harry still somehow thought he was courageous. Thought he knew Draco, in his heart.

The connection went quiet, and Draco suddenly felt as exhausted as Harry had sounded. He didn’t have any idea why the comm charm had activated; it seemed like it had been an accident. Long-distance charms could be finicky like that. His stomach made a loud, unhappy noise and Draco realized he hadn’t eaten yet that day. He made himself some toast and ate it unthinkingly, his whole focus on what Harry had said about him. Fantasies of murdering Nott could wait for a bit while he mulled over the other parts of that overheard conversation.

He’d always assumed that when Harry had said encouraging things to him in the past, he’d simply been trying to buck him up with empty phrases. Not that they’d felt like empty phrases at the time, simply that Draco knew Harry would say kind things to anyone who needed it. He was like that. And Draco was a praise junkie, everyone knew that.

Apparently, though, he’d really meant it. He really _liked_ Draco. Thought highly of him, even. A warm glow spread through him, unfamiliar and slightly frightening in its intensity.

But Harry had feelings for _someone_. Fear and hope surged through Draco, so intermixed he couldn’t separate the strands.

One thing was clear. When Harry got back from this mission, Draco couldn’t go back to stuffing down his awareness of all that he now knew. The question was, what was he going to do about it?

And the answer, as it had been so many times before, was to Floo-call Astoria for help.

 

***

 

Astoria hadn’t been any help, other than by taking Millie’s computer back (insultingly, she’d checked to make sure it was clean of what she insisted on referring to as ‘fluids’) and getting that fatal distraction out of Draco’s house. He didn’t know how the Muggles got anything done, with porn on tap like that.

It wasn’t entirely true to say that Astoria had been no help, Draco thought as he tried to select his outfit for returning to the office. She’d agreed with him that he ought to say something to Harry; it would be torture to keep his sexuality, his preferences and his feelings hidden while knowing there could be a chance that …

 _Ugh,_ Draco sneered at his reflection in the mirror. _As if the Universe would hand **you** the Chosen One on a platter,_ he told himself. If the Universe had been a physical entity, he would be tempted to kick it in the shins for the deliberately cruel irony of giving him and Harry compatible inclinations, sex-wise. Hope was the true enemy, he knew that from days of yore. Memories of suppressing his hope that Harry would win against the Dark Lord bubbled under the surface of Draco’s mind.

Of course, that hope had actually panned out, a traitorous part of his brain reminded him.

The black trousers were too loose on him at the moment; he’d barely eaten in the last two days. Harry and Nott had gone to the party on Friday and apprehended both the manufacturer of the drug and Vosges, who had samples of the drug on him that he was apparently doling out to select trusted intimates. They’d come back to London over the weekend and done a preliminary debriefing with Robards and Valencia, but the full debriefing with the entire team was in—oh shit, forty-five minutes.

Draco’s breath started to come faster as his heart rate kicked up. How was he going to face Harry? What was he going to say? When would he find time to say it? He couldn’t even imagine.

An owl tapped at his window and he dropped the two ties he’d been considering and ran over to let it in.

_Darling Draco,_

_  
Don’t lose your courage. I know you can do this. All my love, A._

He smiled, a wry, pained thing, and crumpled up the letter. Fucking Astoria. So manipulative. He cursed her for her support and understanding, knowing she’d only sent the owl because she knew he was thinking of slithering out and keeping his feelings to himself. And further, she knew that he wouldn’t be able to follow through on his slithering-out plan if she was expecting an update. Which, clearly, she was.

Before he could turn to shoo her owl off, another owl landed on the window sill, the little brown one from the Auror office. He took the scroll from it and unfurled it.

_Debriefing postponed, Auror Nott on suspension pending investigation into improper conduct. Attendance at 8am staff meeting is still mandatory._

Draco’s heart raced. Earlier, he’d pensieved the memory of what he’d heard and sent the vial to Harry within half an hour of the charm ending, with his permission to destroy it or send it to Robards. Apparently Harry had sent it in, after all. Draco felt lighter, knowing that he’d done the right thing. Even though Harry had written to him to say that he wasn’t upset that Draco had overheard all of that, Draco’d worried that he was just trying to help him save face.

Fucking Nott, that total arsewipe. Draco finally selected the tie with tiny arrows all over it, symbolic of the much larger and less symbolic arrows he’d like to shoot at Nott. From very close quarters.

He looked at himself in the mirror, wishing his nose weren’t so long, his hair quite so fine and flyaway, his legs quite so gangly.

Then he Floo’d to the Ministry early, not able to stand another minute of waiting.

The conference room was deserted and Draco checked his watch. It was only 7:40, plenty of time to make some coffee. Except that when he got to the kitchen, the coffee had already been made, and someone was having the first cup.

Draco cleared his throat and Harry’s body went still for moment. Then he asked without turning around, “Can I get you a coffee?”

In spite of his nerves, Draco laughed and said, “Only if I can drink it out of your ‘World’s Best Saviour’ mug.”

Harry turned around and Draco’s breath caught in his throat. His skin had gotten some sun through the glamour and it suited him enormously. His black hair, which he’d recently let grow long, was tied back in a loose bun, curls escaping and brushing against his neck. He held out his mug for Draco. “Here it is, if you want it.”

“I hardly know how to accept this honor,” Draco murmured, taking it from Harry and peering into it. “Ew, milky.” He handed it back and Harry laughed.

“Get your own, then.”

Draco reached around him for a random mug, he didn’t care which, all he could think about was how close he was to Harry and how likely it was that he was about to have a major adverse cardiac event. He finally located a mug and filled it with coffee, bumping Harry out of the way with his hip. He was both relieved that he could act normally around his partner, knowing all of what he knew, both about himself and about Harry, and disappointed that Harry hadn’t taken one look at him and said, “Oh, by the way, that person I have feelings for is you. Please bend me over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck me senseless.”

“I wanted to thank you for sending that pensieve memory,” Harry said. “I was on the fence about reporting Nott, but his behavior towards you has been unacceptable, and when he started in on me—”

“You mean when he _physically assaulted you_? I hardly think his behavior towards me is relevant, considering what he tried to pull with you.” Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry in lieu of shaking him.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I’m glad I heard it,” Draco returned, even though listening to that entire exchange had been sheer hell. At least he’d been able to help Harry hold Nott accountable. “I still don't know why the spell pinged me, though.”

“I think I might have subconsciously activated it,” Harry said, his cheeks darkening. “I must have suspected that Nott was heading that way.”

Draco felt himself flushing as well and tried to stem the tide; he was hardly at his most attractive when pink. “You know,” he said, then cleared his throat again. “I didn’t push Nott because I... It wasn’t done out of hatred.”

“I know that you’re not who Nott thinks you are.”

“The thing is, actually, I might not be the person I thought I was." He took a huge swig of his coffee and kept going. " I, er, recently realized something about myself.”

“And what is that?” Harry asked, head tilted to one side.

“Can we go to our office for this?”

Harry nodded and they walked silently to their office. Once inside, Draco shut the door and turned to Harry, feeling slightly dizzy with the prospect of what he was about to say.

Harry looked at him expectantly, his eyes bright behind his glasses. Draco took a deep breath and charged on.

“So, Nott… Nott did kiss me. What he didn’t say is that I kissed back.”

Harry’s mouth fell open a fraction, but Draco couldn’t focus on that.

“I should back up. I’ve spent the last few weeks terrified that I was everything Nott was accusing me of, because he was right—I hated seeing you guys together, flirting, talking about pet names and… and in his office...that was. I didn’t like it. It made me feel bad. Sick. And so I thought, perhaps he’s right. I must, I must be homophobic.”

Harry’s eyes softened and he began to say something.

“No, please, I know what you’re going to say. You’re right, I’m not a homophobe. But it’s not for lack of trying, on the part of the people who raised me. Pureblood society is, well, you know. It’s backwards. I realized recently that I’d been suppressing my awareness of something important for years, because of the things I was taught about homosexuality. You have to understand: where I come from, gay people can't be happy. At best they can expect pity, at worst contempt, disgust. Ostracism. As far as I was aware, they led twilight lives, never able to openly be themselves. Being gay was a death sentence for any hope of a successful or fulfilling life.”

Draco stared into his empty coffee mug, then forced himself to look up. “But I’m gay. I’ve always known it, I suppose, or … well, it’s more accurate to say that I could have known it. But I wanted to be happy. I wanted to have a family, make my parents proud of me. As far as I knew, gay people couldn’t have the things I wanted. And every time I could conform to what was expected—when I found a girl aesthetically appealing, when I was able to have sex with a woman, I felt proud of myself. Even if it wasn’t very good, it was what was expected and I’d achieved it. The respect in my father’s eyes when I formalized my engagement to Astoria. The happiness on my mother’s face, the way she smiled at me.” He stopped, out of breath, tears pricking his eyes.

“I had every incentive not to recognize my sexuality for what it was. What it is. And I had no positive incentives to come out, not even to myself. That’s the best way I can explain it. Up until recently, it’s fair to say I … I didn’t really know the truth of it, myself. But I am. I am gay. And Nott.. well, he can think what he wants. I kissed him back but I panicked. That’s all. I wish I hadn’t, and I should have apologized. Probably still should, but honestly, fuck that prat.”

Draco stood there, having said a whole load of things that he couldn’t quite remember, wondering if Harry had really got the message. Harry was looking down at his hands still wrapped about his mug; what Draco could see of his face was inscrutable. 

“What changed?”

“What?”

Harry looked up at Draco, his eyes hot and intense. “What was your incentive, to recognize it now?”

“Well,” said Draco, going for broke without a plan on the horizon. “You. To be honest.”

He watched, breath held, as the barest beginning of a smile spread slowly over Harry's face.

“Me?”

Draco opened his mouth to say something and realized that there weren’t really words inside him at the moment, there was just the urge to do something he now knew he’d been wanting to do for a very long time.

He closed the distance between himself and Harry and kissed him.

It was a light brush of the lips, breaths mingling between them, warmth and soft, soft skin. Draco pulled back and Harry followed him, capturing his mouth, pressing harder. This time he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t. Draco leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth, tasting Harry’s lips. The kiss deepened, and he felt like a flower unfolding, his whole body opening up to the new possibilities contained within Harry. Within himself.

“So,” Draco said against Harry’s lips, his voice rough and low. "Now you know."

“Then I have a confession to make as well.”

Draco pulled away and blinked at him, his stomach lurching. It suddenly became very important to get one question answered, before Harry said anything else.

“Did you mean all those things you said to Nott?”

“Yes. Completely.”

“And... and who is it that you have feelings for?”

Harry laughed, a joyful sound. “Who the fuck do you think, you arse?” he asked, then reached for Draco, reeling him back in with his hands on Draco’s hips.

Draco hadn’t ever felt anything like the desire and happiness overwhelming him at the touch of Harry’s hands and lips. _Gay people can’t be happy, my arse,_ he thought wildly as Harry took his lower lip between his own and sucked on it, causing Draco to make a helpless noise.

Without his conscious volition, Draco’s hands explored Harry’s body, skating over his chest to his shoulders and down his arms, then around his torso to clutch his strong back. Harry’s hands were all over him, their kisses turning sloppy and desperate. Draco found his hips rocking into Harry’s, pressing against his groin and finding that they were equally worked up, a hard length meeting his own. He groaned and grabbed Harry’s wrists, holding his hands in place and grinding against him, everything feeling instinctual, inescapable.

Harry bucked up against him and moaned into his mouth, and Draco thought he might come then and there. Instead, he ducked down to lick and suck on Harry’s neck, and Harry chuckled and muttered. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I might have done some research on Pornhub,” Draco found himself murmuring, and Harry burst out laughing. His laughter turned to moans again as Draco ground against him, lost in the smell and feel and sound of Harry.

“And what did you learn from Pornhub?” Harry asked, panting.

“That I like the idea of being in charge,” he said, burying his face in Harry’s hair and sucking on his earlobe, then biting it. Harry arched into it, making a high, keening noise. “No shit,” he said a moment later, breathless. “You’re pretty fucking bossy.”

“Shhhhh,” Draco said, smiling against his neck. “You like it when I’m bossy.”

Harry answered that by bucking underneath him and gasping.

“All Aurors to the conference room,” Agatha yelled as she strode past their office, and Draco and Harry broke apart, identical grins on their reddened, swollen lips.

“You have beard burn,” Harry said, a hand trailing over Draco’s face. He whispered a healing charm, his breath warm and sweet. “There, I took care of it.”

“We have to go to the meeting,” Draco said distractedly. He was tempted to quit on the spot, just so he could drag Harry to his bedroom and have his way with him, but … that was probably not wise, for reasons that escaped him at the moment.

Harry nodded, then leaned in and brushed his mouth against Draco’s one more time. “In a minute,” he said.

They were actually ten minutes late for the meeting, which was a complete blur.

Even under Imperio, Draco couldn’t have said what was discussed; his mind was full of the feel of Harry under him, desire flooding his brain with plans and scenarios and images and fantasies. About halfway through, he had to cast a wordless Disengorgio on his cock, hoping no one noticed, but of course Harry had and he winked at Draco across the table as he very obviously did the same.

Draco ducked his head and stifled a laugh. He didn’t dare look at Harry throughout the rest of the meeting, which dragged on endlessly.

At last it appeared to be wrapping up, when Robards barked, “Alright, you’re all dismissed. Potter, to my office now. Malfoy, you’re on deck.”

Shit. Draco met Harry’s eyes and saw that he looked as disappointed as Draco felt. He shrugged and gave Draco a rueful smile, then mouthed ‘later’ at him and followed Robards out.

Later.

They were going to see each other later.

Harry was in Robards' office for incalculable ages. Empires rose and fell while Draco waited, his entire body on fire, his emotions a frantic whirlwind of euphoria, terror and impatience. Finally, Harry opened the door, giving Draco an absolutely smouldering look on his way out, and Draco went in, struggling not to grin.

Robards interrogated Draco about the overheard conversation, wanting to know why Draco hadn’t sent in the pensieve memory to the DMLE office right away. Draco explained, as patiently as he could, that he didn’t want to violate Harry’s privacy or trust any further than it had already been violated by Nott. He felt that protocol dictated that Harry make the decision whether to submit the memory to the office, and he was content with either decision. 

Robards frowned for a moment, then nodded, apparently accepting Draco’s explanation. Then he said, “Malfoy. The Auror Rules of Conduct forbid Auror partners to openly fraternize.”

Draco stared at him, his mouth agape. How could… oh, Robards was slicker than he seemed. The memory probably contained what Millie would call metadata—his feelings were palpable in the way the information had come across. Fuck. "I... I know that," he said, his stomach sinking. 

“But whatever is done behind closed doors is your own business. Keep it consensual, off Ministry property, and during off-duty hours. You’re dismissed.” And with that, Robards shooed him out. He’d as good as offered his blessing to Draco dating Harry. Circe and Morgana and Merlin.

Draco walked back to the office in a daze, not knowing what to expect when he got there.

He certainly didn’t expect to find an empty office.

He looked all over the room, as though Harry would be hiding under one of the desks or something, when it occurred to him how absurd he was being. Harry’d probably just gone to the loo. Draco felt sweaty and nervous, so he conjured a mirror to check his hair, and in the reflection spied an oddly-shaped object fluttering near his desk. He turned around and there was a… he burst out laughing. An origami bird, just like the one he’d sent to Harry back in 4th year. Fumbling a little, he managed to get it open.

_Make an excuse to leave work early and come to my house. 12 Grimmauld Place, in case you forgot. I can’t wait to see you._

Draco felt faint with arousal. He feverishly ran through all his options and decided that if he got sacked for skiving off to fuck The Savior of the Wizarding World, it would be worth it a hundred times over.

Never had a Patronus been so easy to produce. He sent his spectral wyvern to Robards, claiming a debilitating migraine. _It’s not like Robards is going to fire us, not after our work on this case,_ he told himself, and practically ran out of the office to the lifts.

Once out of the Ministry, he barely prevented himself from sprinting to the Apparition point. With a twitch of the wand and a vision of the grim, crumbling facade of the Black residence, he turned in place.

Draco appeared on the warded doorstep, blood rushing in his ears. The door swung open at his touch, and he stepped in to an empty foyer.

“Harry?” he called out, but there was no answer. Then he saw the fluttering paper bird and he grinned, his heart soaring. It led him up the stairs to a door on the third floor, hovering there expectantly.

Draco opened the door to find a sight that would be burned into his memory forever. Harry James Potter stood before him, naked and erect, his head bowed. He looked so beautifully vulnerable, like an offering.

As Draco stepped into the room, hardly breathing, Harry lifted his head slowly, a solemn expression on his face. They looked at each other, drinking in the other’s presence and silently acknowledging the gravity of what was about to happen.

Then Harry took a step towards Draco and said, “May I undress you?”

Draco gave him a single nod, almost afraid to move lest he somehow make this mirage vanish. Nothing could have prepared him for this. He was expecting to fumble and roll around with Harry like a fifteen-year-old, press himself mindlessly against Harry’s warm body and frantically hump each other. But he wasn’t fifteen, and neither was Harry. And even though he’d never done this, he felt like his whole life had been wasted for lack of it. He needed this. He was going to take this, and he was going to give in return. 

Harry flashed him a grateful, relieved smile that went back into hiding as his face grew still again. He approached smoothly, quietly, on bare feet, his hands reaching out. One touched Draco’s shoulder and stayed there, a grounding presence. The other ran down the front of his shirt, and Harry breathed out a long shaky sigh, like he was finally being allowed something he’d wanted for a very long time.

Harry’s eyes followed his hand as it trailed down Draco’s body. Everywhere he touched felt awakened, newly alive to sensation. His hands began unbuttoning Draco’s shirt, one by one, and for each inch of skin revealed, his fingertips delivered a teasing stroke, until Draco was panting.

Harry looked up, as if asking permission, when his hands reached Draco’s belt. Draco said, “Yes,” and Harry smiled a sly, triumphant little grin, then looked down again to focus on undoing the buckle. The leather slipped free and slithered out of the waistband, the snake-shaped buckle hitting the floor with a clank. Then his nimble fingers undid the fastenings of his trousers and slid them down his thighs, revealing his cotton-clad erection and the dark, wet spot that had formed on the cloth.

Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head when Harry asked, “May I touch it?” Not trusting his voice, he nodded again, and Harry looked him in the eyes as he rubbed the head of his cock through his pants, the slick spot sliding against the skin. A gust of breath escaped him. Such a simple, small touch and Draco felt like he might come, Harry staring into the depths of him the whole while. His cock twitched and Harry felt up the length of it, humming his approval.

“You like that?” Draco asked, his voice rough. Harry nodded, glancing up, and he looked as overwhelmed as Draco felt. Then he slid Draco’s pants down in one swift motion, pushing them and the trousers down to the floor. He was on his knees before Draco now, and he put his hands on Draco’s thighs and looked up, a debauched angel with wild black hair and impossibly full lips. Which he then leaned forward and placed on Draco’s cock.

Draco’s head fell back at the sensation of Harry’s tongue flitting along his foreskin as he sucked gently on the exposed crown of his cock. With a groan, he sank down to take most of the shaft in his mouth, bobbing up and down for a few endless moments. Draco forced his eyes open to watch the spectacle of Harry’s lips stretched around his cock, his eyes closed in bliss. All too soon, a rush of ecstasy concentrated in Draco's balls; he was reaching the point of no return. He put his hand on Harry’s cheek. “Stop, nnnngh… stop now.”

Harry pulled off, breathless and flushed, and sat back on his heels, waiting expectantly. His cock, thick, dusky, and hard, jutted up eagerly between his legs. The head was shiny, the foreskin almost completely retracted. An urge to taste and explore overwhelmed Draco. “Get on the bed,” he said, not quite a command, but not quite a request. From the way Harry’s eyes fluttered, he could tell it was the right way to handle him.

Harry rose and turned, slowly and deliberately. It was no mystery to him, clearly, that his arse was one of his best assets. Full and firm, dimpled and pert, it made Draco’s cock throb just looking at it.

“I want you on all fours, Harry,” he said, hardly recognizing his own voice. He wasn’t nearly as nervous as he would have predicted; he had always been better off running the show than taking orders and it looked like it was no different in this situation. Draco felt ordained to play this role, and he sensed that Harry felt it, too.

Harry complied, arranging himself on hands and knees on the large, firm-looking bed. His cock hung down between his legs, dripping precome on the sheets. Draco quickly stepped out of the pool of his clothes and slipped out of his unbuttoned shirt. As he approached the bed, Harry watched him, eyes wide and lips apart, looking mesmerized. He stopped by the side of the bed to run his hand over Harry’s back, causing him to push into the touch like a cat. A wave of tenderness crashed over him at the movement, the welcome, and the marvelous softness of Harry’s naked skin. This posture of submission was a tremendous gift to him, and he wanted to honor it. And he wanted to take Harry over completely and make him _his_.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. It came out as a kind of low purr, and Harry shivered under his hand. Draco stroked down past the sway of his lower back, up the swell of his arse and over, palming the flesh of the cheeks. “Beautiful,” he repeated, then got up on the bed with Harry, straddling his lower legs and positioning himself behind him.

From here, he could see that—dear Merlin—Harry was wearing a plug. It nestled between his cheeks, a round black knob, shiny with lube. Feeling for the first time out of his depth, he put both hands on Harry’s arse and spread him wide. His fingers were magnetically drawn to the intrusion; he put a little pressure on it and Harry gasped. “Oh, that’s good,” Draco murmured. He wiggled it around and Harry thrust back onto it, whining softly, and Draco felt dizzy with lust. He started pulling it out a little and pushing it back in, and Harry’s body began to shake.

“Please, please, Draco,” he began to chant, then his elbows dropped to the bed and he buried his head in his arms, arse thrust even farther into the air.

“I want to make you feel so good,” Draco confessed, and though his tone belied his uncertainty that he would be able to, Harry’s responsiveness was a beacon guiding him. He had to trust the signals he was getting.

“Can you… can you fuck me? Please? I swear I’m ready,” Harry pled, and laughed softly, helplessly. “I’m so fucking ready, Draco; please, please fuck me!”

Draco bent down and bit his arse cheek lightly, squeezing the other roughly. Then he tugged on the knob of the plug, twisting and pulling gently until it slid out, leaving Harry’s hole open and loose, glistening with lube. His fingers slid in, crooking down and feeling for the spot he’d found on himself after watching a particularly gripping video. He knew he’d found it when Harry mewled and groaned, his head thrashing on the bed and his hips pressing back on Draco’s hand relentlessly.

“Fuck, Draco, _fffuck_ yes, please let me have your cock now,” he begged and Draco's cock leapt violently. He withdrew his fingers and wrapped his hand around his cock, slicking it with the lube from Harry’s lovely hole. It was time.

But then he stopped. He couldn’t fuck Harry like this; he needed to see the face of the man he was in love with, the first time he entered him.

“Turn over, love,” he said, and Harry shuddered and obeyed, falling to his side and disentangling his legs from Draco’s to pull his knees up to his chest.

“Is this what you want?” Harry asked, as he held himself open. Draco settled between Harry’s legs, pulling on them to wrap around his waist. “I want you,” he said, searching Harry’s beautiful face and marveling at the emotions he found there. “Is this what you want?” he asked in return. Harry’s eyelids fluttered and he nodded. “For a long time. Yes. I want you, Draco. Please.”

Draco lowered himself to kiss those lips that shaped the words that pierced his heart. He’d never realized how much he’d needed to be wanted by Harry, but now, as it was happening, as all was being revealed, it hit him with the force of a blow. Harry made him strong, made him good, made him better than he was. Wanting Harry was the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.

He lost himself in Harry’s mouth for awhile, rutting against his hard and dripping cock, then he backed off to grip Harry’s thighs and push them gently up, clearing a space for his hips. Draco reverently circled Harry’s soft rim with his fingers and brought the head of his cock in alignment, pressing in as slowly as he could manage. The resistance was surprising, given how loose Harry felt, but it felt amazing. He checked Harry’s face to find that his eyes were closed, his mouth slack with pleasure. Pressing in a little more had Harry arching his back, bearing down to take more of Draco into him. He pulled out slightly and pushed in farther, marveling at the ecstasy on Harry’s face, the way his body accepted him, the sensations that were nearly drowning him in pleasure.

As he pressed home the final inch, Harry let out a huge moan and opened his eyes. “Finally,” he said. “You’re where you belong.” Something burst inside Draco; he began moving, fucking in and out, trying to get as far inside Harry as he could. Time became meaningless. There was only this one moment and he had to make it last. He felt powerful like a god. He felt humble like a penitent. He loved the man underneath him, was exalted by him and felt like he was worshipping at his feet as he fucked him mercilessly. There were no words for it, nothing to compare it to.

Harry’s hands found Draco’s arse, clutching it spastically and pulling him down into his channel harder, and harder, and harder. Both of them panted and cried out, sweat dripping, possibly tears as well. Then they came; Harry on his belly, Draco inside his lover. His lover. The person who loved him. The person he loved.

The world spun out of his control and he found himself slumped top of Harry, trembling and sated and scared. Scared of the intensity of what had just happened. He stilled himself and rolled to the side, eyes closed. He didn’t know what happened next.

Draco lay there, listening to Harry’s breathing, listening to his own. Harry’s hand found his and he thought his heart would break. It was breaking, in fact—breaking wide open. He turned on his side and Harry turned as well. They gazed at each other for a long time.

“I can’t believe you taught yourself to make those birds,” Draco said softly. Harry’s hand came up to trail down his cheek and rest on his neck, warm and gentle. “My whole dorm hated me for making those.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, brushing hair away from Draco’s neck. “Where did that obsession come from?”

“Believe it or not, I was studying Muggle magician’s tricks, sleight of hand stuff.” Harry nodded, encouraging him to continue. “They advised learning origami, because it increased the dexterity and sensitivity of your fingers. But then my housemates caught me doing it and I had to pretend I was doing it so I could animate them. We used to have battles in the common room.” He drifted off, lost in thought.

“I think it was when you made that bird, that was the first time I found you attractive,” Harry said. Draco stared at him.

“It’s been that long?”

Harry nodded, looking very mildly sheepish. “But you were straight. I thought I got over that crush a long time ago.”

“And?” he asked, feeling cocky? “How about now?”

“It’s back in full force, I’m afraid. Worse than ever, really. Was beginning to worry I'd have to find a new partner.”

"Is that why you haven't dated anyone in a while? Draco asked, heart pounding.

Harry smiled. "You guessed it. You're so fucking smart, look at you."

Draco’s hand slipped around Harry’s back, grabbing his arse and pulling him close. His mouth descended to brush over Harry’s beautiful, plush lips. He could stay here forever.

“So. We’ve confirmed conclusively that you’re not homophobic,” Harry said, pulling away, his smirk turning into a huge grin as Draco lifted up on one arm and leaned over him.

“Well, it turns out that I don’t have any problem with you kissing men, as long as it’s me you’re kissing.”

Draco's mouth descended again, to prove his point.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://www.oceaxereturns.tumblr.com)!


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